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AN ORPHANAGE LAD, 



NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS 



WING 



LONNIE LOYLB, 



'•".•# 



THORNWEU, ORPHAXAGE PRESS, 
CLINTON', S. C. 



& 



THE UBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

Two Copies Received 

OCT. 5 1901 

qCo- I IftMT ENTRY 

diASsd^t XXc No 

7- o 3 

COPY B. 



Copyright applied for 
by Thornweli, Orphanage Press 
a. d. 1900 



DEDICATION. 

to those whose 

loving hearts, 

tender to the 

touch of God, 
have made possible the work at thornwell, 
and to those comrades of happy by-gone days 
whose fellowship i then enjoyed in love and 

now in memory, 

this is dedicated 

with the wish 

that i t may 

be as pleasant 

for them t o 

learn or to 

remember as 

for the author 

to remind. 



In Memoriam, 

Thornwell, gift of God to joyless hearts and homes I think of thee 
When my heart would find an harbor from the wildness of life's sea, 
When my soul would find an anchor mid the breakers of its woe, 
And is longing for a voice to speak the peace it fain would know. 

Then my spirit seeks communion with the God who gave it birth. 
Speed ye, messengers, on, speed ye to the dearest spot on earth , 
Gather there the richest memories the choicest and the best. 
Bring them e'er my God shall come for he would find my soul at rest. 

Whisper thro the vale and tell my secret to the wild wood flowers. 
Seek the bosom of the lily, bid the brooks inform their bowers 
Of my heart aches. They will lade your wings with memories of love. 
From our holiest of holies, heaven within and heaven above. 

Simple by-paths thro the meadow, simple windings thro the wood, 
Simple ripples of the brooklet, simple friends of humble blood, 
Ye are mine, my childhood loves, I'll ne'er desert you for another, 
Till I learn to love some heartless, loveless beauty more than mother. 

Each mother is the country's heart as Jesus is the heart of heaven, 
Mother-love and Saviour-love the richest boons to mortals given, 
Safely guide us, gently draw us as we ever upward plod, 
Mother dear the heart of home and Jesus Christ the heart of God . 



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Prefatory Note* 



rvmi . HE STORIES in this little 
fl. book are true stories, in 
the main. They are, some 
of them, composite, that is, 
made up of incidents from 
lives of different boys. 
Names have been changed some- 
times and sometimes not. In all 
the sketches there is nothing un- 
natural or impossible in its h' p- 
pening at the Orphanage. 

This book makes no pretentions 
to literary merit. It is simply an 
attempt to speak to sympathetic 
ears, out of the abundance of the 
heart. 

The Author. 







I. A Dream and an Introduction 9 

II. Old Times , 17 

III. The Jug-yer-knot . 29 

IV. Henley's Letter 37 

V. Base-Ball 49 

VI. Enoree 6$ 

VII. Poems de la Quigley and Rob 79 

VIII. "A Mid-Summer Night's Dream" 85 

IX. The Angels' Visits 99 

X. More Ball 109 

XI. Lutz 123 

XII. And He Went Out and Wept Bitterly 143 

XIII. Cornerstone Day 247 

YIV. A Tribute 163 

XV. Who Ever Carest and Doth Care 167 



XVI. Lo ! He Giveth His Beloved Sleep 181 

XVII. Christmas 189 

XVIII. Some Old Friends , 208 

XIX. -'Say Rather, 'We Shall Meet Again.' " . .231 




A Dream and an Introduction* 

IT HAD been a hard week on the young pastor. Hard 
and yet how delightfully so. Only in the mental and 
physical strain had it been work to inspire a young man to 
rise from the drunkard's gutter and in another's strength to b e 
a man ; only thus also to comfort the bereaved family or the 
declining saint. But when Saturday night came and the 
two sermons for to-morrow lay finished upon the table, a 
little weary and a little restless he sat by the bed-room win- 
dow. It was too glorious outside, too balmy for lowered 
windows, and too brilliant for lighted lamp. And so he sa 
reveling in the calm and peace of the June evening. The 
footsteps on the street below became fewer, the gay laughter 
from the neighboring parlor ceased, one by one the lights 
of the street windows vanished and only the drowsy hum of the 
beetle and the dismal chirp of emboldened insects could be 
heard. He sat with the glorious moonlight full in his face 
until the eyes that had searched in vain for the cow and the 
fence on its mottled surface might have been seen to close. 
Perhaps it was the girlish face that he saw there, or perhaps 
the jollv one beside it, or perhaps it was the work of a stray 
fairy suggestion that transported him over plain and moun- 
tain to the little hamlet of the Piedmont, around which his 
fondest and earliest memories cluster. A sudden whistle of a 
railway locomotive might have started the train of fancy, for 
in a moment he found himself in his native town and gazing 




io NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

after the vanishing coaches of the train upon which he had 
just come. All was still ; it was early morning. The sun 
was just rising and its first beams were reflected from some 
object brighter than the rest and directly in front. Ah, he 
has it now, it is the old Col- 
lege roof and the Orphan- 
age must be there nearby. 
He passes slowly down the 
street. How things have 
changed in a short decade. 
What mean these new glit- 
tering rails across the street, 
a new road? Yes, it 
could be nothing less, for there was the depot and the cars 

and all, and this great building just opposite? What! a 

hotel and such a hotel I My, Clinton has been on a boom I 

But tell me who are these people beginning to come out on 
the street, strangers all; no, there is a face that looks famil- 
iar. Why if it isn't old "Di-dad-in-a-minnit". "'Say there, 
old man, don't you know me?" "Well I be d-d-d-di-ded, it's 
sho y-you, aint it, b-b-boss?" "None less, Di-dad, and how 
are you, and how is the old woman?" "D-d di-ded, m-minit r 
sheaint here." "Why, what's the matter?" "D-di-ded-in-a- 
minnit, Mr. — ; — , I t-t-tole her if she d-didn't quit eatin so 
much she would kill herself, and, d-d-d-di-ded, she d-d-done 
done it." "Too bad, Di-ded, and where's old Uncle Mark 
Meetze?" "H-h-he's here yet, d-d-di ded, ef he aint took no 
sc-sc-sc-scabalic acid, d-d-di-ded-in-a-minnit." Oh, yes, the 
drearrer remembered all about Mark mixing up his alcohol and 
carbolic acid bottles. But the black face has vanished, and 
the dreamer is passing on. 



12 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

Listen, there is a bell ringing, how familiar it sounds. 
Ah, now he has it ; it is the same one that for many long years 
used to summon him to breakfast and dine and sup. Yes, he 
will hurry on and watch the children as they come from their 
cottages to meet in Memorial Hall. See, yonder 
they come. There are the larger girls from Home of Peace, 
andyonde^is the little company from Faith Cottage. Look, 
yonder are the McCormick boys, and now from every side 
come the happy faces and merry, pattering little feet. He 
follows them up into the dining room, he watches them as in 
silence they bow their head for the morning thanksgiving. 
He hears the same old voice that has so often pleaded with 
God and man once more ask from His hand a day's strength 
and bread and he listens as the merry clinking of knife and 
plate begin and continue till the muffins are all gone and 
the hominy has disappeared. Then they rise from the simple 
meal. Where are they going now? Oh yes, why did he not 
remember? For ten sweet years he had gone with them thus 
to the morning service of prayer and praise and silently took » 
as he sees them taking, his accustomed seat. The hymn, the 
psalm, the prayer, — how familiar! The reading too, and 
even the benediction each pronounced as they cautioned one 
another to 'let bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and 
evil speaking be put away from us with all malice, and let 
us be kind to one another, tender hearted forgiving one 
another, even as God for Christ's sake has forgiven us.' 

Now the march has begun and they are passing out y 
some to the kitchen, or laundry, or sewing room, some to 
the farm, or shops, or printing office. It is Saturday, one of 
the bovs has iust whispered it to his companion, then there 



A DRE\M AND AN INTRODUCTION. r^ 

will be no school this afternoon and only four hours work in the 
morning. The line has nearly reached the outside door now, 
he will watch them and see if there are any familiar faces. 
See, they come ! He scans them closely, his eyes open 

wide with wonder for there are impossible ! yes, there 

are the same lads and the same lasses he used to know. He is 
back among his old comrades, companions of shop and dia- 
mond and class-room. Oh what a glorious day it shall be 
today with the old fellows in the old home. 

Yonder comes John Giz, and there's Crawf, the finest 
rabbit-gum-maker in the world, and right behind him comes 
Corney, how he could play ball ! and take a whipping with- 
out a whimper — even Mrs. Liddell's — and set type, and eat 
'simmons. But how funny ! he is pastor of a city church, in 
Wilmington, Delaware now — and look at old Dill behind, he 
used to strike me out every time I'd come to the bat and lick 
me every time I told on him — and yet I never got mad with 
him but once, when he broke up my hen nest when I had tied 
the old hen on the nest for a week ! Well no wonder Dill is an 
M. D. now and a professor at that, he always was an M. D. 
old Mean Dill — to everybody that cheated himand'taled about 
their knife in a "sight-on-seein" trade or told on him or 
wasn't the right sort of a fellow generally. And there's big old 
Sam Fulton — my, wasn't that ducking he gave me cold that 
day because I pied his type. Ha! ha ! ha ! I remember that 
water and pi too — wasn't he a good old fellow though, 
couldn't eat a blackberry pie because the niggers picked the 
blackberries off a man's land that wasn't willing — and it was 
the finest blackberry pie we ever had. I remember it for he 
gave me his piece. Pshaw, lie's too honest for this country, 



14 



NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 



lie's right where he ought to be, a missionary to the Japanese 
where there ain't any niggers, nor blackberry pies. Look at 
Allie Quarles, there never was a man that could catch as 
many "fee-larks" as he could, except Tom and everybody knew 
where Tom got his from. And there's old John and Darb and 
Jim Moff. Do you remember how old Moff lost two lightening 
bugs and spent the whole night trying to find them ? He was 

afraid they would set the house on fire. And Plug Uory the 

miserable rascal — he cut me out of my girl once, and Quigley, 

the sailor now. Shep — old 
S h e p and I used to set 
peach-nut hens on little 
white rocks and hatch pig- 
nuts for turkeys. Aw 
pshaw! there's old JnoL. , 
nobody ever did get a "git" 
on Jno L., nor on old Shep 
either, for that matter, ex- 
cept when the boys told him 
an old field rat was a young 
squirrel and he "wanted 
mo." Yonder' s Jack — I re- 
and the two girls i caught member he was the hero of 
courting once. the orphanage for a week 
because he did two things the restof us couldn't do — captured 
a wasp nest and swallowed a live minnow. And the girls 
too there's Gertie and Eme and Mollie and Carrie and Cleo 
and sweet little Jennie Hurley. And there go the two girls 
I caught practicing the art of courting once. See them all 
pass by. 




A DREAM AND AN INTRODUCTION. 15 

So thinks the dreamer to himself as the faces go. So 
quickly rush the boyhood memories to his mind. 

But where's Henry Griffin the dearest of all comrades. 
We were born together, Henry and I, into the kingdom of our 
common Father. 

How well I remember it. The walk down by the 
branch, the confiding talk, the simple prayer, the new light, 
the new joy, the brave confession in the old home 
church. Yes, I remember it all, and he must too, up there in 
heaven where he has gone and where I shall see him as with 
the great multitude we mingle our own weak voices amid the 
anthems of the angels. 

They have come and gone. The last note of the organ 
has died away and the dreamer is left alone. But only for a 

moment for as the silence deepens he opens his eyes to find 

that the Katy-dids have stopped their march and he is alone 
in the moonlight. It was as though the musician had fallen 
dead in the midst of a great symphony. How he would have 
loved to follow them through the day and into the night — 
have watched them at ball and tops and rabbit gums, at the 
presses or engine or stove, in the woods or meadows or 
•wash-hole." How he would have loved to speak with them 
once more or in a happy vein talk over old times, drink once 
more from the old springs and press once more the old paths 
to "Bell's Pond," "Copeland's Hollow" and the "Second 
Woods." And what he could not do, gentle reader, you and 
I shall do in the following pages. 




Old Times* 

HENLEY and I were talking one day. 
He was always a jolly old fellow Hen- 
ley was and there never were better friends 
than he and I, unless it was he and Henry. 
We had been talking over old times. Every 
body loves to do that, don't they? For my- 
'*'*' self I am rarely happier than when I have my 
feet toward heaven, my eyes shut and my fancy at play. 
Don't you love to sit and recall the faces of the past, sit and 
let the happy memories trip with light step over your soul and 
feel each tiny foot- thrill and^listen to the vibrating of the 
chords that had lain cold and silent for so long. It is so good 
to have the happy heart joys that come when a beautiful mem- 
ory glides suddenly full upon you, a memory of some good 
old time nearly forgotten. And when they come yju love to 
have them play with the feelings that lie buried in your in- 
most heart. And I venture you will love to recall the 
images just as soon as all grows quiet about the old home and 
your fancy can have a carte blanche for its activity. 

And it ought to be sunset-time too ought it not? — just as 
it was with Henley and me. Then as we watch the sun slow- 
ly dropping away out of sight and as "we are thinking of some 
other things that end here, the thoughts are sure to be mellow- 
er and holier. Then is the time you love to call up the imag- 
es. Is it a mother who reads these lines, or a father, then I 
can almost see the picture your fancy loves to dwell upon, to 



18 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

call and recall, to change gradually each brilliant or sombre 
colour, to bring out successively the lights and the shadows. 
It is the old home isn't it? And the old father and mother. 
How strange it seems now that the children should call you 
by those names. And the child is there too in the picture. 
Ah, what sweet sorrow fills your heart when you call up that 
scene as you buried him away and all the time he and his 
shepherd were just above you. You were looking down at 
the grave. Had you looked up you might have seen them. 

It is not a father or a mother? Then it may be a youth 
to whom I am speaking. Ha ! ha ! ha ! I can tell you all 
about his pictures and his images ! It is the cosiest little par- 
lor and the rain and wind outside only make it the cosier. 
About dark too isn't it and folks are hurrying back home on 
the street without, in the mud and rain. Every now and then 
some of them look in at the parlor window whence come the 
cheery rays of firelight and think as they see it of their homes 
and loved ones. And that fire, how brightly it glows. I 
wonder if it is because of the name she gave it when you 
wrote her you were coming. And what a world of poetry and 
beauty there is in it, from the deep velvety coals to the dark 
grey ashes. And that tiny blue flame how young it looks ! 
That is youth, the coals in the full glow is impetuous man- 
hood and the dark, sombre ashes tell us of a life buried away 
and remind us that the dust shall return to the earth as it was 
and the spirit, the bright, pure, flaming spirit, has it not al- 
ready vanished into the presence of the God who gave it. 

Then too the long dark shadows cast fitfully across the 
room by the irregular bursts of flame, and the occasional 
crackling of the good-natured logs, and yes there surely ought 



OLD TIMES. 19 

to be a "cricket on the hearth" and — what else? Who doesn't 
know what else is in that picture? All the joy and light and 
beauty of the scene depend upon this something else. What 
else indeed? You are looking at her and she at the 
fire and its light is bathing her beautiful face till every feature 
is radiant with its loving glow and the most fascinating tints 
seem to tinge each ringlet of her hair and to sleep and dream 
in those dark brown eyes. You too are dreaming as you gaze 
at her there, of life and love, and raptures w T hich only they 
can bring are filling your soul until your throbing heart sends 
the surging life-blood to mantle your cheeks and man your 
nerves for life's actions. And you are dreaming of more than 
that. The glowing embers tell you of life's struggle fierce, 
hot and fiery ; and their crackling speak of sharp surprises 
and every falling coal of losses and separations. And then 
you watch the leaden ashes gather over the bright embers 
and you think how you too will some day return to dust, but 
shortly after your forehead is wrinkled with age as the fires 
of youth slowly burn out, just as every seamed log before you 
is seared and scarred by the flames. But these thoughts are 
only for a moment, for the fire has just been kindled on your 
hearth and her's, and you two will sit together and watch it 
glow and flicker and flame for a long time yet and then may 
the kind Father of all spirits grant that the leaden ashes may 
gather at the same time on your life hearth as on her's and 
that your fires may die out together. Be brave, lad, and 
true, and shake off all the clogging ashes from your bright 
burning heart as long as there remains fuel to burn within. 
►She will do the same, my lad, she vill do the same, and may 



20 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

your fires burn out together. It is so hard to outlive those 
you love. 

So Henley and I were talking, reminding ourselves of 
the plum hunts and muscadine hunts and jolly rambles and 
boyish escapades. Strange too as we talked, other ventures 
and incidents would come to us, almost forgotten they were, 
and we had to aid one another in dragging their unwilling 
forms to the bright focus of memory. That reminds me. 
A friend told but yesterday of a similar experience. For the 
sake of the story I will have to name her. Let her be Mary 
Lou Jones then. She was in a distant city, and, in seeing 
the sights and attending receptions, noticed several times a 
face that for some reason was strangely familiar. At last, 
one evening, they were thrown together. Booth was his 
name, I believe. He had forgotten hers if he ever heard it. 
"Mr. Booth, your face is singularly familiar to me," she 
said. 

"Indeed?" 

"Yes, we must have met somewhere do you not think?" 
"Why possibly; from what state are you?" 
"From North Carolina, sir, have you ever been in thaf 
state?" 

"Yes indeed. I graduated at Chapel Hill in '94." 
"Ah, I was at that commencement. It was then we 
must have met " 

"And from what town are you, ma'am." 



"Oh! why 'er 'er (in a most excited tone). Excuse me, 

but do you know a Miss Mary Lou Jones of M ? I gave 

her the biggest rush of my life that Commencement!" 



OLD TIMES. 2t. 

The rest may be imagined. 

Yes we remember the good times when the good timers 
are forgotten. 

Henley and I talked about Anniversary. Anniversary 
is a big day in Clinton and at the orphanage. A thousand 
people assemble at the church. It's the anniversary of the 
founding of the Sunday-school, I forgot to tell you that ; 
and then they all come over to look at the orphanage ; and 
we are off looking for squirrels and fun while they are doing 
that and having as the boys are fond of saying "lots o' fun." 
Yes, ask anybody in Clinton and they will tell you that 
Anniversary is a big day. 

Then there is Thanksgiving, You remember that comes 
just before Christmas a little bit ; and do you know there is a 
man over in Elberton, Ga. that sends enough turkeys over 
for Thanksgiving dinner to do the whole crowd. "Aint that 
fine, and aint he good," the boys would say. I shall not 
tell his name, but if you ever get to the Thorn well Orphan- 
age ask any of the chaps and they'll tell you. 

"Henley," said I, "I am going to write a book." 

Have you an application blank for the state hospital for 
the insane," was his reply. But I didn't look at it that way, 
nor did he. He was "just funnin' " and so we fixed it up. 
"I was to write about the life and the good old times just for 
me and him and anybody else that wanted to know about boy 
life at Thornwell. 

"Yes, Pard, you must do it, it'll do us fellows good to 
be reminded of the old days if it don't interest anybody 
else/' Henley said as he took the train that evening. 



22 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

"A few days after I received a letter. It was from him. 
He wrote a long one too, and as I turned it over a poem (?) 
fell out. 

This is the poem ; the balance of the letter later. 

Poem on Watermelon Stealers. 



This, the scene of early boyhood, 
Birth-place of life's memory! 
Often does my heart turn backward 
Where my feet may never be. 

Backward, aye, and ever with it 
All my thoughts, in joyful play, 
Do revert with mellowed longing 
To those scenes so far away. 

Ne'er forgot shall be those evenings, 
Spent in careless boyish glee 
Underneath the pine's dark shelter, 
Where ear heard not nor eye could see. 

Spent in games with jolly comrades 
Out upon the old play-ground, 
Chatting, laughing, gaily singing 
The merry words of Johnny O'Brown. 

Happiest joys and sweetest pleasures 
Pass we by unconsciously — 
Dearer are they, how much dearer 
Now ! than e'er they were to me. 

Huntsmen were we, little Crusoes 
On our desert isle alone, 
Living on the haws and berries 
Oe'rthe pleasant meadows strewn. 

Well we knew each nook and corner 
Where the wood-fowl built her nest: 




"This, the scene of early boyhood, 
Birth-place of life's memory !" 



24 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

All the dens and deep-dug hollows, 
Darksome pits and mountlet's crests. 

How we loved to roam at even, 
Resting 'neath some shadowy tree, 
Listening to the wild-wood music, 
Of the birdies minstrelsy. 

Once, how well I now remember! 
Twas in the last of summertide, 
And we had gathered all together 
To seek the place where melons hide. 

Against the rules ? what boy has ever 
Thought a rule was made to keep? 
We only feared and wondered whether 
The gardener's eye we could escape. 

We reached the spot, but to our horror 
The path was wet, the least impress 
Would tell whose foot it was tomorrow, 
And he, alas, would tell the rest . 

But boys afe ne$ er stopped and we 
Did not in vain onr senses rack; 
"Now, boys, you fellows follow me 
And put your feet right in my track. ' ' 

He led us on , we followed after, 
And one huge giant's footstep make; 
Brought back our prey, convulsed with laughter 
O'er the rich trick we had just played. 

But we alas forget too often 
His laugh is surest whose is last: 
One comrade, oh the sad misfortune, 
Our common footstep slightly passed. 

And in the footstep pressed so plainly 
In the mud one toe was gone; 



OLD TIMES. 25 

The gardener knew too well the foot 
That had left its imprint all alone. 

'Tis best to let the curtain fall 
On the mournful scene that followed: 
The switches broke ! the jigs we danced ! 
The howls we fellows uttered ! 

Merry, merry were those rambles, 

When our little companj' 
Wandered through the woods and meadows, 
Bound for joy, from school set free, 

Wandered singing round the village, 
O'er the vales and hillocks high, 
Stealing past the haunted places 
Tiptoeing past them cautiously 

Now they're gone and yet they linger, 
In a living memory 
Love will bind them ever closer, 
Love for things that cannot be. 

They are gone, of all our number 
One remains the tale to tell. 
Only one, out he will never 
Lose the scenes he loved so well. 

Who can tell what time the rosebud 
First the full blown rose blush takes ? 
Who has found what hour the dawning 
Into resplendent daytime breaks ? 

Who has seen the mother's love 
On her little darling center ? 
Who has watched the manly breath 
Into the soul of childhood enter. 

Then they were boys. Now in young manhood. 
Each a pictured future views. 



S6 



NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 



Pictures that, alas, too oft 
Are painted in reflected hues. 

Let old times rest and let them linger 
In a living memory, 
Let boyhood love bind them together 
Boyhood friends and scenes and me. 




y^w^i 



The Jug-yer-knot* 



JAMIE was telling me some stories the other day. Jamie 
is one of the orphanage lads, one of the brightest of them 
all and a great little talker, and I was more than willing to 
listen for he was telling me of his life there, only a little dif- 
ferent from what I myself had done and thought and felt. 
He told me all about it. Just how much of Young's woods 
had been cut down and how the second swamp had been 
drained and the big pond too where we used to skate and 
ride in great box boats and how the "Tenteen" woods had been 
cut down (they got their name from Bunch. He was trying 
to tell how many squirrels he had seen one day in them. "Fif- 
teen" he said, "no eighteen, no! more than that, nineteen, ten- 
teen, yesh 'bout tenteen squirrels and we run 'em all up a 
big — " Here he stopped for he could not say "tree" and all the 
boys would laugh at him if he said "twee," so he tried it 
again, "and we run them all up a big bush/") Then Jamie 
started to tell me stories, and I became more deeply interested. 
At the end of each one I would ask for more. At last I 
noticed that the little fellow's eyes were growing brighter 
than usual and his face became animated as only a lad's face 
can become. I had just asked for another, story. He was si- 
lent for a moment and then began : 

"I'm going to tell you about something that happened 
right here and not very long ago. I've heard the boys tell 
part of it and I saw the rest. 



30 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

'One day we all heard that a new boy was coming to 
the orphanage, and you know how the fellows are, everybody 
wants to see him and find out what sort of a fellow he is, 
whether he's smart or big or a coward or not. Well this 
fellow came and he was smart and big and he'd fight like any- 
thing — he d fight us little fellows, some how he never got mad 
with the big boys. He hadn't been here long before he was 
bossing us boys around as though he was a king. He was 
ugly as home-made sin, chewed up twice and when Dave called 
him "Plug Ugly" out at the woodshed one day he never was 
called anything else afterward. Well sir, one day some of us 
fellows were sitting out by the swing when Plug Ugly came 
round the corner of the house drawing a sort of a cart he had 
made. It was just a great big box on four wheels with a 
tongue to the front, and a seat nailed across in the middle. 
We saw him coming and started to run but he yelled us back 
and we knew better than to run any farther. Then I tell you 
what he made us do. He hitched me and Tommy Stirling in 
front and four other little fellows behind us and then cracked 
the whip and said "Git up hosses" and we got up and he 
drove us all round the yard three or four times before he let us 
out. Well, we* held an indignation meeting but it didn't 
do any good. Plug kept catching us and riding in his car 
of the Jug-yer knot as he called it. 

One day though we formed a league, the Antiplug league 
we called it, and determined to put a stop to his fun. Every 
one uf the little fellows joined and on Saturday afternoon when 
we knew Plug would want to take a ride we all got together 
and got ready for him. Plug came around the corner. He had 
seen us but he hadn't noticed that our pockets were full. 



THE JUG-YER-KNOT, 31 

"Come on hyer hosses," cried the god of the Jug-yer- 
knot. 

"Mr. Plug Ugly we aint comin' on an' we aint goin' to 
pull you any more around here." 

"Git outyer little brat I'll show yer whether you'll pull 
me or not" and he reached down into the Jug-yer-knot for his 
whip. 

But just as he bent over, Tommy gave the signal and some 
eggs upon which a hen had sat unsuccessfully sped through the 
air and emptied their contents down his back and in his hair 
"Git out yerself," yelled Tommy and we were upon him. 

And we did do him up. We doused him with eggs and 
sand and fists and rocks and then Tommy got the whip and 
peppered his legs and when he done that Plug Ugly retreated 
rapidly toward the bath room. Tommy said he wished he 
had had his bow and arrows he would have punctured Plug's 
pulchritude on the run. 

After that Plug didn't bother us no more till one day 
some of the Anti-plug league was sitting in council talkin' 
about fishin' and bird eggs and the like, when here came Plug 
and the Jug-yer-knot again. Well, we were surprised. We 
thought we had whipped him for good, you bet. And then 
just as he came the two biggest ones of our boys, Lester and 
Harry walked away just leaving me and Tommy and Will. 
When they left we knew we were gone up for we had no eggs 
nor rocks, nor men and Plug had his whip and both pockets 
filled with something. So we just watched him and he took 
out his harness and hitched us up and we had to pull, compli- 
menting extravagantly in our minds old Plug's good looks. 
You see Plug had bribed Lester and Harry to draw out of 



32 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

the league and promised not to hitch them up and to gave 
them a potato a day for a week to boot. 

It was just about this time that another new boy came 
to the orphanage. He was a fine fellow, good lookin' and 
smart and good. I remember one day the boys were all goin' 
to the washhole and you know how they are. The big boys 
won't let the little ones go unless for some special reason, to 
carry bait or climb trees or something. Well Henry, that was 
the new fellows name but everybody called him Hal, was 
a big boy and had become a big favorite with the other 
fellows and was going of course, and Tommy Stirling wanted 
to go. You see they were going through the woods and 
Tommy loved to shoot his bow and arrows and he would have 
a good time, but the fellows didn't much want him to go. 
Well Henry saw how bad Tommy wanted to go and asked 
the fellows and they said he could come, so Tommy followed 
them sorter afar off. 

You know when the fellows strike out for the wash-hole 
they always look for bird eggs on the way. Then too Doctor 
had told the boys to collect specimens of bird eggs for the 
museum and he wanted to put them in the cases and put their 
names on them and everybody would see the eggs and the 
nest and then read the names and of course all the boys 
wanted to get all the eggs and Doctor had about fifty Jay 
bird nests a day brought to his study during the spring. Well 
as soon as they struck the woods they began to look for nests 
and while they were looking for the eggs Tommy was looking 
for the birds that laid the eggs. 

Then they came to a big tall oak, a great big one down 
there not far rom the hedgerow and one of the fellows looked 



THE JUG-YER-KNOT. 33 

up and saw a nest and it was a humming bird's nes. But 
it was away out on a limb and nobody would climb for it. 
They tried to get every one and were lookin around for Tom- 
my when who should take off his coat but Henry. He 
climbed up and went away out on the limb and stood up on 
it holding to the one above and looked down into the 
nest but there wasn't a thing in it. But just as he was about 
to come down, Jno L. saw a crow's nest. It was nearer the tree, 
above Henry's head and on the very limb Henry had been 
holding on to. They all yelled to him and he saw it, but 
instead of coming back to the tree and the limb he was on, he 
grabbed hold of the limb above him and swung himself over 
it and then got straddle of it and began to move in toward the 
nest. Now the nest was on the very limb he was on. As 
soon as he got up on the limb he tried to look into the nest 
but it was too far off. It looked mighty old too and he told 
the boys there wasn't anything in it but they told him to see, 
so he begun edging to it. Just as he got pretty near it, almost 
near enough to look in it, he saw some fierce little eyes and a 
devilish lookin' head and a pair of sharp fangs darting around 
in it, and he knew he had run up on a snake's nest. A min- 
ute later and he would have had his hand in the nest. As 
soon as he saw it he begun to back back, out toward the edge 
of the limb and the snake followed him. He went farther 
and there came the snake right after him. He yelled and the 
boys yelled, and he backed farther out toward the end of the 
limb and the snake came darting out its fangs and winding 
round the limb coming for him. Henry got out then where 
he couldn't get any further and the limb began to bend and the 
nake was sliding down at him when k 'Whizz!" Everybody 



34 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

looked round, then up, and Henry saw an arrow go right 
through the snake's head and pin him to the limb and he 
knew he was sure safe and a moment later had let himself 
down to the ground. 

But Tommy was the hero of the evening. You see 
when he saw Henry climbing the tree he began to come up 
just behind the crowd and got there just in time to see Henry 
backing to the end of the limb and to shoot the snake. Tom- 
my was a good shot, every one knew that but even Tommy 
was surprised at that particular time. 

Well after that Henry and Tommy were just like broth- 
ers. 

The very next Saturday some ofthe league, me and 
Tommy and Will were out at the swing and here came 
Plug with his Jug-yer-knot. Plug hitched us up and we 
started off. We were going fast enough but Plug wanted 
to go faster, and so he gave Tommy who was lead horse a 
good rap on his leg with the whip. Well sir, Tommy just 
stopped. I never saw a little fellow so mad. Even old Plug 
was surprised. But that didn't make any difference and he 
pitched on to Tommy for a good thrashing. He Ead got him 
down when around the corner like a flash came a fellow run- 
ning with a stick in his hand and the first thing you know 
Plug was rolling over in the road yelling like a crazy. 

"I dare you to touch him, I double dare you, I double 
dog dare you to touch him again, you coward of a Plug Ugly." 

It was Henry who had seen the affair at a distance and 
come to Tommy's relief. 

But Plug didn't want any more. The lick on his head was 



THE JUG-YER-KNOT. 35 

about as much of an enlargement as he could conveniently 
manage. 

Then Henry just kicked that car of Plug's all to pieces 
and the Jug-yer-knot was no more. And from that day to this 
we never have been bothered pulling Plug or any body else. 

And I've been a wonderin' and a thinkin' if it don't kind- 
er pay a feller to be sorter kind to another feller, for some- 
how, some day, you may sorter want h i m to be kind o' 
kind to you. You shoot his snake, he whip your Plug 
Ugly. 



Henley's Letter* 




B 



UT I had almost forgotten to tell you 

the rest of Henley's letter. It was a 

long one ! Isn't it singular that very few 

things seem to touch the pen of man like 

a little sad remembering? Well, first he 

.'"^S^S?^ fHHnr* tQ ld me about how he had been fooled in- 
to writing that poem. Just couldn't help doing it, got to 
thinking about old times. Then he went on to tell about the 
book. 

"And the more I think of it" said he "the happier I am 
that the records of our boy life are to be chronicled. Make 
it a good one, old man, tell all about the tops and baseball and 
kites and escapades and everything, but say! don't, oh don't 
forget the better side of our life. I'll tell you what I mean, 
I'll just write the whole story for I remember you were away 
at the time. It was" after our Celia's death and unless 1 
am mistaken you had just left, for you werethere when she 
died, were you not? And you know every time I think about 
it I wonder at how few deaths there have been in the orphan- 
age. Out of all the sixteen buildings and the two hundred in- 
mates for twenty five years fewer have died in it than in a sin- 
gle home in Clinton ! You remember how the day before she 
went she asked the Lord to use her death for the salvation of 
.her playmates. We fellows all heard about the prayer and it 



38 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

did us lots of good. It had been a long time since there had 
been many of the boys to join the church. 

It seemed to touch Doctor too and it wasn't long before he 
had arranged for a meeting and Dr. Guerranc (everybody 
knows him I reckon) came to conduct it. He just preached 
the simple gospel and it made us listen and by the time the 
week was done lots of us fellows were thinking and 
thinking hard. I shan't forget it soon. And I must tell you 
about Hal and me. You know we always were the biggest 
sort of pidners. Neither one of us were Christians. Of 
course you know I mean by that, hadn't joined the church. 
Well one Saturday afternoon he and I started blackberry 
picking. We went all by ourselves down by the branch. 
It wasn't long before we quit picking blackberries and went 
to talking. 

"Henley," said he, "I've been thinking about what a no- 
account fellow I am. Here I've been letting the Lord feed 
me for four years and I haven't done a thing to pay him back 
yet." 

He didn't know it but I was thinking about the same 
thing myself. 

"And I'm going to join the church and work for him for 
a while." 

So I was and I told him so. 

"And lets you and me try together and see if we can't 
show him we're thankful." 

Simple ! Oh, but it didn't, that little conversation didn't 
express one thousandth of what our hearts felt. Hal's eyes 
were swimming when he said the words and I could only let 



HENLEY'S LETTER. 39 

my heart beat faster and faster for I couldn't say anything 
without letting him know how I felt. And no man 
would do that ! So we knelt down there in the sand in the 
big road by the side of which we had sat down and made it 
right with our Saviour. We told him we had always been 
his children and always would be. And the thing was set- 
tled. 

And you know, Pard, that is the sweetest picture in all 
my orphanage life. Hal and I and Jesus coming together 
as we knelt there in the sand and forgot for a while our black- 
berries. And he didn't mind our little bare feet and sun- 
burnt skins and dirty clothes nor poor little words, and we 
weren't the tiniest bit afraid of Him for we had never 
thought of liim much as Jehovah but always as our brother 
Jesus You know that's the way they teach us at the orphan- 
age. [ thought of that time when a good many years later 
Hal wrote me he was going to preach the Gospel and bring 
others to the Saviour we had found in the sun and sand and I 
thought of it when two years later another wrote me he was 
buried in the old grave yard only a few steps farther toward 
the church than the spot where we knelt that day, a few steps 
farther to the Master of all spirits, to the brother of all 
children. 

Yes, Pard. tell the fun in your book but don't make it all 
fun. I don't mean to tell the deaths and sorrows the family 
had, though you could do that and they could be counted al- 
most on the fingers of one hand, but let the folks know — the 
folks Jesus is using to do his works there, — that he not 
only touches the heart of the givers but of the receivers as well . 

But I never did finish telling you about our meeting. 



40 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

As I said we fellows loved to go to them, each sermon brought 
us nearer to Christ. Hal' and I joined among the first and 
then we tried to get other boys to come. We used to pray 
together for them, particularly old Plug Ugly, he wasn't a mem- 
ber. Plug Ugly laughed at our joining the church and said 
he wouldn't join any thing Hal and I were in and wouldn't 
go to heaven if we were going to be there. The last night of 
the meeting came and we were gathered together again. 
My, what a sermon it was, all about God's holiness, then his 
justice, then his love, then his life, and then why then, it 
seemed to me nobody could help coming to receive that life 
as a gift. I was so glad that I had joined I fairly cried for joy. 
That wasn't anything though nearly everybody was doing the 
same thing. Then I saw a sight. We had just been invited 
to come forward and accept the Saviour and it seemed to me 
every body came except the little fellows and those that were 
already his. Old Will and John Lavender and Laxton and 
Mack and all the balance and more than as many girls. But 
I never will forget old Plug. He had been scorning us ever 
since we had demolished his jugyerknot car and had been laugh- 
ing at the whole thing. Pard, aint it wonderful what the 
Spirit of God can do for a man. Well sir, I saw that fellow 
get up out of his seat away in the back and walk up trembling 
from head to foot and cryin' like a baby and he took Hen- 
ry's hand as he passed by us and said, "Henry, old man, you 
and God forgive me, I'm going to join you and we'll be in 
heaven together and I'm glad you busted my jugyerknot. It 
oughter been done." And he went on up and met Tommy 
Stirling who had come from another part of the room on the 
same. business, you know how he despised Tommy! Well he 



HENLEY'S LETTER. 



41 




IN THE OLD CHURCH. 



just took the little boy and hugged 
him right there before the crowd, 
but there weren't many that saw 
him, and Tommy hugged Plug too. 
And the next day we were baptis- 
ed in the old Church. 

I have been looking over a file 
of old papers and cut the follow- 
ing notice that appeared about 
our meeting from the dear old Southern Presbyterian. 
THORNWELL ORPHANAGE NOTES. 
When our dear girl, Celia Conn, lay on her dying bed, two months 
ago, she called a loved friend to her bedside and said, "On the first of 
January I asked God to help me to save twenty souls this year. I now 
ask him to use me for their salvation in any way he will." She left us 
with bright eyes and a loving farewell. Her own brother was the first 
fruit of her prayer, and doubtless, her sweet life and wonderful death 
have borne their fruit. Since the first of February, thirty two of the or- 
phans of Thorn well Orphanage have professed faith in Christ, fifty two 
since October last. All of our older boys, all of our older girls— well all. 
of our younger boys and girls too except about a dozen of the wee tots — 
have given themselves to Christ. It is a wonderful household is 
it not. a saved household of nearly two hundred souls ! We had your 
sympathy in our sorrows dear friends; we now ask you to share our joys. 
There are nine cottages now, the Anita Home being the latest, and 
all of them over run with "poor man's riches" children, children! But 
they are the Lord's own dear children, and if you people of the living 
God forget them, (no danger of that though) we'll tell the master about 
you. 

And now old boy, God bless you in your work. Send me 
back this poem of mine and one of yours with it. 

Your old Pard, 

Henley." 



42 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

His letter lay by me and I began to think again of 

all sorts of things. Of Henley himself first, I remembered 
when he first came to the orphanage. It was this way. He 
was a little boot-olack in one of the Southern cities, a sharp 
witted, black-eyed little boot-black. One of the Presbyterian 
pastors became interested in him and got him in the Orphan- 
age. My ! but couldn't he play ball ! We caught him once 
fresh from the ball ground and took his picture. It was a 
jimdandy. Being bright he excelled in class work. The or- 
phanage has six scholarships in a neighboring college and 
when Henley got ready for college he was given one of the 
six. Four years passed, he graduated and determined to 
study for the ministry. Three more years of hard work in a 
distant University. Henley used to talk to me about those 
days. Of his dreams and labors, of how by the fire late at night 
he used to think lovingly of the old home. But he was work- 
ing for mother. The student's lamp burns brightly by his side, 
all the brighter for the intense darkness without. Only the 
sleepy hum of some belated insect breaks the deep 
silence which reigns around. Very few are they who 
are yet poring over the morrow's tasks; only such as he, such 
as know that afar in the Southland there lies at that hour one 
who will some day depend on him, a mother like his, per- 
haps or maybe the thin gray locks should be changed to full 
flowing tresses and lovely ringlets and the pale blue eyes to 
dark rich depths of brown. Depend upon him! upon his in- 
terests, his feeling, his will, upon the knowledge he is gaining 
in the late hours of the night ; upon the power he is storing 
up for life's battle, a battle to be fought for her. 
And because he knows that her tender or withered arm will 



HENLEY'S LETTER. 43 

rest upon his stronger one some day for support and her 
warm heart or failing one, depend for its life-beats upon his 
strength, he spends his all in preparing for that hour. How 
noble it is to be leaned upon ! O Lord make us all pillars in 
the house of our God. 

But how rapidly time passes. Henley is a minister now. 
Preaching to the very men whose shoes he used to black and 
pastor of the very church before whose doors he used to cry 
the morning papers, and his elders and deacons are the very 
ones who used to suffer his agile hands to black their boots or 
hand over the news. 

Just then my thoughts left Henley for a moment and I got to 
thinking about one of my trips. Imagine the scene with me 
a young man, then, in an old farm house where I had gone 
to make a speech to their church, and Sabbath- 
school. They ask me to tell them about the orphanage > 
I begin and tell them about two boys. About my Pard, old 
Leslie McKenzie "who is doing a great work as pastor of 
a large Northern church" and I remark that he was from this 
very county. — No? impossible! they knew no McKenzies at 
all except two little boys that used to ride an old bare back 
mule to mill bareheaded (the boys of course) and dirty (all 
three) a long time ago. It took me quite a while to explain 
that a few years at the orphanage had transformed the little 
dirty, ragged mule-rider into the pastor, for he was the same old 
Leslie McKenzie. He and I used to set type and play ball and 
muddy ponds and fish and hunt school books and learn the 
three R's, Readin', Ritin', and Rithmetic together. 

Then my mind went back to old Henley again. Time 
has passed rapidly and he is a minister now, and others be- 



44 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

side mother and sweetheart are leaning upon him. What a 
tonic it must be to his spiritual life, what a vision to his spir- 
itual eyes, and, oh, what a weight it must be to his spiritual 
shoulders, for him to know he stands between the living and 
the dead, between the living and God! To know that the 
dull eyes of this dying woman will see no other light than 
that which he can focus upon the path through the valley of the 
shadow, that her ears already listening to the roar of the Jor- 
dan, will catch no other tone of comfort or hope or life than 
his, before God shall pass to her his verdict over the bar 
of his justice. If nothing else will make him strong that will 
do it — to feel — to know that dying souls are leaning upon 
him for Life. It is well, lad. that in the jolly careless days of 
your boyhood you had not to bear that load, the load which 
only you and your God know the weight of. 

And so I must, as Henley wrote, tell them something 
about the better side of our life, I thought. The better part! 
that included the sweeter part and that surely included the 
praise service we used to hold every evening at sunset. Ah ! 
those were truly sweet moments, there was more pathos and 
and poetry in them, when Jesus talked with his children and 
they with him than — but that word poetry broke in on my 
meditation, 

Henley had asked me for n poem. I used to write a line 
or two occasionally reminding me now as I read them of the 
little lad who asked his father for a new pair of pants and 
giving as his reason that "the pair he had had had a doz- 
en patches in them already." But surely if a man could 
write rhyme or poetry such moments are the ones to do it. 
There are the children, the evening glories, the old father- 



HENLEY'S LETTER. . 45 

president, the gloaming and all. Well that time they got me 
started and some how the harmony of the hour got mixed 
up with my words and so when I answered Henley's letter 
I enclosed the following verses : 

The Evening Prayer. 



The last amen is dying, as the shadows softly fall 

O'er our heads in reverence bowed at evening prayer, and from the 

wall 
The ling' ring sunbeams homeward flee, the gloaming follows swift 

the day, 
Our hearts are quiet now and we are ready in his name to pray. 

Leaning on the open book, the light of heaven in his eyes 

Stands the leader of our thoughts in glory bathed from sunset skies, 

Heavenward he lifts his face and his soul begins t~» pray 

Long before the lips have sent the felt petitions on their way. 

Deep'ning tones of adoration — He is lifting us above 
To that God whose greatest mystery is all embracing love. 
Filling hearts with thoughts of grandeur, of sublimity and power, 
Never-dying Universes marking seconds in his hour. 

Holy Father, we thy children swell the Universal cry — 
One adoring acclamation to the God who rules on high — 
Hear the voice of all creation and the homage that they bring. 
Ineffable the glorious thought that thou shouldst hear, Eternal King ! 

Honors everlasting shower o'er thy throne of heavenly light, 
Crowning thee whose thoughts are galaxies, whose wish infinite 

might. 
Constellations form, and quicken into life and love and praise 
As that wish becomes thy will, Thou matchless one of endles days ! 

Wilt thou hear the meek confession which we as thy children bring? 
How unworthy we the notice or the care of heaven's King! 



NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

Grovelling before thy footstool we pollute it by our touch. 

But we marvel at thy kindness. Wilt thou hear ? Wilt answer such? 

Tho' thy gentle hand would lead us to the close of life's short day. 
And at eventide thine angels gladly guide us on our way. 
We have spurned the Lord of Pity, loving darkness more than light. 
Hopeless darkness ever deep'ning to the long eternal night. 

Holy Love that pierced our gloom shed evermore thy kindly rays, 
In despairing, tempting moments show thy fair benignant face, 
With tender handclasp lead us on and frcm the mesh of Satan's snare 
Our wounded souls deliver, Thou who caredst ever and dost care. 

Gently, Father, gently lead us for the 'way is dark and we 
Tho striving hard to follow fast and peering the true light to see 
So often fail ! These mysteries of earth how tightly sealed ! 
Of Heaven too. O Father will they ever be revealed? 

Lord of mercy in thy heavenly dwelling place our praises hear, 

And forgiving turn upon us evermore thy loving care, 

Mid the anthems of the angels listen to our feeble cries, 

O Thou wonderful Jehovah, God of earth and sea and skies. 

May the voice of our thanksgiving swell the never dying strain, 
Hosannas echoing in the skies for him whose right it is to reign 
Humble tribute for the gift of life and love and hope within. 
Everlasting hallelujahs to the Father-God! Amen. 

The prayer is done but still the loving intercessor's face is bright, 
With joy just gathered from on high, true heaven born delight. 
While hearts before disconsolate and sad now bravely dare 
To hope again, aye, live again for him who heareth prayer . 



The Base Ball Game* 




suppose 



f^QAY John L. who's a goin' 
O ter pitch?" 
"Goats agoin' ter they all say 
Jan' I wouldn't be sprised if theyre 
right." 

"An who'll they put in if he gives out." 
"Aw, Tommy, you, of course who else d' you 
How d'ye reckon I know? Corny aint goin' to tell 
nobody till Sadday." 

It was in the hall of McCormick home. The boys were 
just "goin up stairs," a set of words supposed to be synony. 
mous with retiring. For weeks there had been but one sub- 
ject of conversation at the Orphanage, and that was the 
coming base-ball match when the big nine was to cross bats 
with the "town boys". Tommy Quigley's questions were 
those of every other little fellow that could get one of the 
team to listen to him long enough for him to propound them. 
This, however, the larger boys were not anxious to do. It 
rather added to the dignity of the occasion and the interest 
as well for a large amount of information as to arrangement, 
batting order, etc., to be saved till the day of battle. 

"I aint pitchin' fer little brats like you" (Tommy, the 
speaker, was aged eleven) . "Seems ter me the mighty mus- 
cles of Hon. John L. Sullivan Verner might be used in my 
place, if Goat gets tired." 



50 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

"Kid's learnin' to ba-a mighty soon down there," was 
the only response to the challenge. 

It was a little hard to say where "Goat" Carter got his 
nickname. The latter were not infrequent at the Orphanage 
and one, at least, might be expected by any boy, not more 
than a week after his arrival. Some of them said that Goat 
received his nom de plume from his first week's recitations, but 
most accepted the theory that it was because of the plastering 
that the girls swept down the Seminary stairs the afternoon 
that "Crawf" pushed him headforemost down the steps and 
his head bruised the opposite wall. But however that may 
be, he had not been long in Clinton before the boys found out 
that he was the best ball thrower amongst them and at a 
meeting of the club, had voted him a member and had made 
him pitcher. In fact as Jno. L., the left fielder told the other 
boys "it was a kinder speshall providence that sent him here 
for our boys aint near as big as them town boys and had no 
pitcher at all if't hadn't bin fer Goat." 

The immemorial custom at the orphanage was for all the 
boys and girls to work in the manual training departments 
for four hours every morning. The regular school "took in" 
at two in the afternoon and continued until five. Between 
the morning "work hour" and dinner, and dinner and school, 
and again between the afternoon school hour and supper the 
students were allowed to do pretty much as their minds in- 
clined. Just at present there was but one thing ever done. 
Only two days intervened betore the game which was to be 
played on Saturday afternoon when they all had holiday, and 
liitle groups of boys could be seen at al 1 play hour periods 
"throwin', ketchin' and rollin grounders," in preparation. 



THE BASE-BALL GAME. 51 

Tommy Quigley was all excitement. At his earnest so- 
licitation the captain had allowed him the unspeakable honor 
of keeping the tally board. This which cost him a full week 
of anxiety for its preparation was now being safely hoarded 
at the bottom of his trunk. Only one thing was lacking, the 
order^of the batters and Tommy would have given all his 
earthly possessions to have known who and when these were 
to be. 

"Where's Corny, Dill." he asked the next day after work 
hour. 

"Him and Goat went down to the ground to practice, 
what you want with him?" 

"Aw, nuthin' I jus' wondered where he wuz." 

Dill James had been the pitcher for the team but in the 
absence of any substitute had overdone himself and his glass 
arm would have prevented him from doing good work. 
He and not Tommy, however, was to be the dependence 
should Goat's arm tire. 

"Say, Dill, would yer quit muffin' them balls long enough 
to answer a gemman's question ef he wuz ter promise yer a 
tater after dinner time." 

"Yer's a little indef'nit, Tommy, but what's yer question 
and how many taters'ryer already owin?" 

"Say, old man," in a low confidential tone, "I know 
you're goin to bat fust and Giz second but who comes after 
Giz." 

Now Tommy was Dill's follower, (all the big boys had 
attaches) and did all his errands, further, he knew that Tom- 
my would never let on. 

"How many taters did you say you was owin?" 



52 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

"Not mor'n a duzin, Dill, but I'll gin you your'n ter« 
morrer." 

"All right I'll paste yer if yer'r foolin' me. I spec Plug 
Ugly'll come in next." 

"I scream and Dunkey music, is Plug Ugly go in ter play? 
Man, Plug Ugly couldn't hit a barn door wid a bass riddle. 
But thanky, ole man, you'll sho git yer tater." A few min- 
utes after, the enthusiastic young scorer could be seen writing 
Plug Ugly Murphy between the names John Giz and Will 
Crawford. 

And that night, although the tomorrow was the day of 
the contest there was not a sleepless lad among the twenty 
four. Even Tommy's heart-beats became less quick as the 
vision of balls and bats and yells and tallies faded into dream- 
land. 

And so the great day came. All during that Saturday 
morning nothing else was talked about. The fears of all, that 
the day might prove a rainy one had been dissipated — for the 
sun never shone brighter. In the shop, on the farm, in the 
printing office, and even in the cook-room and laundry, mys- 
terious stories were going the rounds about how Crawf had 
made anew bat and no one else was to be allowed to use it ex- 
cept the Orphanage team, how he had worked on it for weeks 
telling nobody about it, but Tommy Quigley had seen him 
when he carried it up to McCormick last night. The girls in 
the laundry nearly wept when some one told them mischie- 
vously thut Corny Jennings had broken his finger and could 
not catch and the report had been circulated that Goat's arm 
being too sore to pitch. A whisper had gone the rounds about 
a trick Goat was goinp to play. Tommy said it was "some- 



THE BASH-BALL GAME. 53 

thing about a fly and not getting in the box, he did not zackly 
understand it, but he bound Goat would work it all right." 
Mysterious sighs and expressions and notions were common 
during the whole morning. A hog being driven to the pen 
was misunderstood by some of them to be a ball and was bat- 
ted accordingly. On the farm a boy would be hoeing proper- 
ly enough when suddenly an idea would seem to strike him 
Down went the hoe, up goes the head, he jumps forward 
leaning over, grabs a rock and sends it with a whizz across the 
field shouting "Second base lively," "Judgement Mr. Um- 
pire." Upon which Uncle Billy (the farm manager) prompt- 
ly rendered the decision of an extra session in the cornfield 
upon another demonstration. In the shops all kinds of tools 
would find themselves used as bats and several girls could not 
understand what the sight could mean when they entered the 
printing office door and every hand went up as if to catch a 
fly. 

Perhaps one of the most enjoyable features of it all, was 
that the girls of the town and the orphanage were both to be 
allowed to witness the game. In fact, a number of the wise- 
acres among the old boys said that they would not have lee 
Plug Ugly play, if Gertrude had not promised to come. 

Long before the hour, (the game was to be played about 
three) the field was covered with excited boys. "Pitch her 
here Jno. L." "Gimme a grounder." "Watch him muff it," 
could be heard on every side. The town team had just come 
followed by a crowd of rooters and friends. All the Orphan- 
age boys and girls were there. The time had come to begin. 

"Where's Henry Squigly" Capiain Corny calls. 

"Here I am Cap'n." 



54 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

"Cum 'ere Squigly, I want ter give you the names." 
Tommy is there in a minute. "Here I am Cap'n, but you 
needn't bodder bout the names." 

Corny looks at the board on which every player had been 
arranged correctly and in order. "How'd you get them Tom- 
my?" 

"You tole me Cap'n." 

"When?" 

"Las night." 

"Where?" 

"In yer bed." 

"What yer givin' me Tommy?" 

"Fax, Cap'n you oughten ter talk so loud in yer sleep." 

"Er git out, — but, say its time to begin. Call um out 
loud." 

"I sho will — you snored umall out cept the Empire and 
you wouldn't let on bout . 

"Play ball," shouts the umpire. All is silent, the town 
nine has the field and the orphanage is to the bat. 

"Play ball." 

"All right," calls Tommy — "Dil James to the bat, John 
Giz on deck, Plug Ugly ter follow and Crawf crawlin' outer 
the water." 

"An' whose in the mud, Mr. Tally-boarder." 

"Oh, I guess we aint agoin ter have anybody in the mud 
this time. Limme run this cat wont yer." 

A laugh altogether too loud for its value followed this re- 
mark. Even Mr. "Tommie Squigly" was surprised at its 
effect, but looking up quickly, saw the real cause of the mer- 
riment. Frank Hunter, the colored "jack of all trades" had 



THE BASE-BALL GAME. 55 

appeared accompanied by his whole family and the ten little 
pickaninnies sitting perched in a row on the fence back of the 
crowd, had just attracted attention. 

11 Aint yer shamed er bringin yer chocolit cherubs out here 
ter lurn meanness, Frank? They too young ter be sposed to 
temtations." 

"Dey aint none er de yung uns deyer, Boss, "says Frank 
anxious to excuse himself, an Sal's stayin home wid de babies. 

"An' the chimbly fell on the balance o' dem, didn't it?' 
But the game had now begun. 

What intense interest hangs around the first throw of the 
pitcher in a match game. The crowd stands in breathless ex- 
pectancy. The ball itself tossed lightly by the umpire, who 
tries to call as nonchalantly as he can "play ball," as though 
he was so used to such little incidents that he is getting tired 
of them, when in reality his breast is swelling with pride at 
the thought of his importance, the ball rolling lightly toward 
the pitcher's box, is carelessly picked up and twirled in his 
hand. Then comes the long expected moment. Hearts scarce 
dare to beat. The catcher leans forward with a hand on eacl 
knee and face toward the box, conscious that many eyes are 
upon him. The first base-man stands some fifteen feet fron 
his castle, like a mouse, which seems to hear some hostik 
sound and is on the point of making a dash for his hole. He 
is also conscious of the crowd of witnesses, most of whom are 
looking at him. The second baseman stands motionless, his 
nostrils probably distended and clapping his hands together, 
as though every time he was catching the highest fly that wa- 
ever knocked and three on bases and two out. Even the 
right fielder watches the ball, absolutely oblivious to all else 



56 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

yet betraying an evident consciousness of the fact that no bo- 
dy else is doing so, but all eyes are centered on him and boys 
and girls are remarking about how determined he looks and 
saying "I bet he wont miss any." And of course comment- 
ing on his cap and his red garter around his sleeve, that has 
been rolled up to exhibit his muscles. As a matter of fact, 
however, most people are watching the pitcher, who stands 
with left foot forward and left hand holding the ball in the 
air, while the right is to be found alternately in his mouth and 
on the seat of his pants. He stansd motionless now, passes 
the ball to his right hand, draws back, contracts every muscle 
in his body and with a great grunt, such as he has learned 
from the darkey wood-cutters, indicating power, hurls the 
ball toward the batter, who with eagle eye has been watching, 
conscious too, that nobody is watching anyone else except 
him. And then, what glory to the pitcher, if the ''Empire" 
calls "strike" and his friends among the spectators cry "he'll 
fan" and what determination is immediately seen on his face 
if it is "ball" and what a disheartening yell arises from the 
other side if the batter knocks a fair hit. Surely these are 
important moments of a boy's life. 

And after all, the battles of the base ball field are the bat- 
tles of life. He, who would learn best the soul of the boy 
and later, understand the actions of his son, — let him go to 
the field and watch — perhaps too, he had best remember the 
days when he was a boy, when he gave those yells which now 
are so hideous and those cat calls which he now condemns as 
ungentlemanly. They did not seem such to him then. Let 
him remember, too, how his own heart throbbed at the whizz 



THE BASE-BALL GAME. 57 

of -the ball or sank as his bat fanned the air. Or even nv>i'\ 
let him think, how that the lad who bandages most gently Ids 
comrade's bruised finger may be the famous doctor or sur- 
geon : the pitcher, who throws the ball strongest and best, 
may be the general who endures the hardest campaigns and 
thus the leader of lads become the master of the men. 

It was toward the middle of the game. The tally-board- 
er had just finished declaring to the eminent satisfaction of 
himself and enjoyment of all, who was to the bat, on deck 
and crawlin outer the water, when looking up, he saw a sight 
that made his blood boil. 

"Say, Simp, who's that red-headed, ball-headed, bullet- 
headed, skinny-headed thing yonder, beatin' that little kid?"' 
-Where?" 

"Over yonder by the fence and I saw all uv it, the little 
un didn't do nothin but kick his box out from under him." 
"Aw, that's Blizzard, our kecch out." 

"Well, he oughter ketch wussurn out, and if I was his 
Mammy I would call him to the roost." 

The game went on smoothly. At the end of the seventh 
inning, the score stood 25 to 25, but that was barely an indi- 
cation of how it might stand at the end of the ninth. Time 
seemed ripe, for the town nine was at the bat, with three 
men on bases. A fly had just been knocked and caught and 
its batter was the only man out. Tommy had been wondering 
why Goat had not tried the trick of which be had heard very 
much, and was now watching for it to come. He had not 
long to w r ait. Goat was acting a little strangely, standing on 
the edge of the box and throwing the ball. No, as Tommy 



58 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

looked more closely, he was not in the box at all, and here 
was something wrong. A satisfied smile was seen on the 
catcher's face, but very few seemed to have noticed any thing 
wrong. Goat threw the ball much slower too, so slow that 
the batter sent it flying over the left fielder's head and a 
grand chorus of yells went up from the town side. Each one 
of the three men on bases went a base further. 

But neither Goat nor Corny seemed disturbed, only a lit- 
tle excited, but Tommy had forgotten to call his roll. 

"Hello there, tally-boarder, what's the matter, let *m 
come." 

"All right, Walt Price to the bat, Simp Harris on deck, 
and Buzzard crawlin' outer the water." But Tommy did not 
stop as usual to admire the amused smiles of the auditors, he 
was too busy watching Goat. 

The ball had been fielded to the pitcher and he now stood 
squarely in the box, but instead of sending it over the home 
plate, he threw it to the third baseman and he seemed to un- 
derstand and passed it to the second and he to the first, who 
returned it to the pitcher. 

"Side out," cried base-men and battery together. 

"Huh, what's that," it was Buzzard speaking. 

"Side out" cried Corny, "Judgement, Mr. Umpire." 

But before the umpire could understand (umpires didn't 
generally know all the rules in the new books) Buzzard had 
gone a step further. 

"I guess not, yer can't cheat us that way. You aint 
playin' a set of fools I guess." 

"Nor a set of gemmens needer. it looks like," the tally- 
boarder now remarked. 



THE BASE-BALL GAME. 59 

"No sir, he was fairly out, John L. caught the fly and 
Goat didn't go into his box and then you all batted another 
ball on 

"Aw shet up your lyin', ef yer don't I'll shet yer up 
w.id" 

"I'm a lyin' eh" — Corny had found a bat, his eyes were 
flashing fire, every nerve tense and what was the best evidence 
of his passion, his teeth were biting blood from his lips. 

"Tetch me if you dare" said Buzzard, slapping him in 
his face. 

"Hit 'm," "separate 'm," "Bust 'm open," "Let 'm 
alone, "Let 'm have it out" came from all sides. 

"Remember Corny," it was Dill James his best friend 
in the world that spoke. The uplifted bat was lowered the 
muscles relaxed. Corny remembered. It had happened but 
a few weeks before. She lay dying, his mother, "Remember 
Cornwell" she had said "Remember you are my boy and 
Jesus' ; be true to us both." Tears of penitence mingled in 
his eves with those of anger as the vision of the death-bed 
scene rose before him. 

"Buzzard I aint a goin' to hit ver, but I dare you fer a 
wrastle," 

"Hurrah fer Corny," "Good," "Throw him down Cor_ 
ny," "Wrastle with him Buzzard," "I aint skeered" They 
locked arms. Buzzard characteristically took the underhold. 
Being larger and older and heavier he had much the advant- 
age. 

"That aint fair, give Corny the underholt." But before 
much could be said Corny had jumped into the air and at- 
tempted in his boyish way to bend his opponents back. Fail- 




> 






Vi 

"a, 



o 



THE BASE-BALL GAME. 61 

ing in this as soon as he touched the ground he had adroitly 
placed his right foot behind his adversary's right and by 
throwing his weight upon Buzzard's neck and shoulder 
twisted him sideways and in a moment they were on the 
ground, and Corny was on top. 

-Fair fall, try it again Buz," "Corny got 'im," "Buz 
aint as sho on his feet as he is in the air." By this time the 
whole crowd w is in a good humor, all except the defeated 
wrestler. 

"Say fellows, this beats base-ball, lets have some of it, 
g ime's called on erkount er darkness, roostin time for de buz- 
z i is. declare J umpire Fulton. And in a few moments half 
the boys were engaged in mock "rassels." 

The game was over. 

4 That s lots better n nghtin', Corny sho kin rastle, cant 
he. said Tommy as he made a dive for the bed after blowing 
out the lamp that night. I've alluz heard as how them that 
winls kin git, only Buzzard oughter got mor'n he did. 



m 

-••••©•••••• 

u " 




"H 



Enoree. 

E'S a coward and they oughtn't ter let 
im go." 
"Whose that they oughtn't ter let go Big 
Un, calls a voice from another room."' 

"Aw' I wuz just a startin' ter tell these fel- 
$ lers about a little sumthin' that happened down 
on the ball-ground the other day." 

"Well go on and let it out, I aint a goin ter interrupt." 
It was the night before the annual trip to Enoree. Most 
of the boys had gone early to bed in order to be ready for the 
two o'clock rise in the morning, but some were still awake, 
discussing the questions incident to the trip, and among these 
was John Harris, denominated by way of contradistinction 
from his brother Nat, "Big Un" as the smaller member was 
called "Little Un." John was engaged in observations as to 
who ought to be allowed to make the coming trip and as on. 
ly a limited number could be accommodated in the wagons, 
some of the lads must be excluded. Among these John 
thought Lep Carter ought certainly to be numbered. 
'■What'd he do 'BigUn'?" 

"Oh, we were all playin' ball and Lep knocked a fly. It 
wuzn't much of a fly and the short stop oughter caught it easy 
but he didn't and Lep got to first. I wuz a ketchin out and 
seein' Crawf on second base, I knew we had a chance to shet 
'im out there. The first ball that passed, sho nuff, he made a 



64 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

run and a dive for second and I let the ball go fur Cravvf. I 
couldn't swear that Cravvf touched him with the ball but if he 
didn't he most and Crawf sez he did. But Lep wouldn't agree 
ter it and lows as how he wouldn't go out. Crawf remarked 
as how the second base-man might sorter give him a lift and hep 
'im out. Lep turned white ez a sheet and didn't say nilthin 
and Crawf begun to lif ' 'im. I started to sorter cheer erlong 
the wurk but I might ez well not er done it. Lep jest sorter 
drawed up his pants and breshed off the dust and quit the 
diggins and he aint played no ball since. Now I say a man 
that wont fight's a coward and it uz all his fault too. "Well 
too late to git 'im out now, Uncle Billy said he wuz to be in 
the second waggin." * 

"I'm thankful he aint in the fust, I dont want no sneaks 
and cowards in mine." "I heard that feller pray in prayer- 
meeting the other night 'Big Un' and he didn't pray much 
like a coward." But just then the bell rang for lights out 
and so the discussion was ended. 

Nine miles from Clinton flow the yellow waters of the 
Enoree river. Not particularly famous in storied lore nor 
over-rich in incidents of historic interest, yet it furnished the 
scene for many delightful episodes in the life of the orphanage 
boy, and still doth furnish. In fact, only the merry times of 
Christmas or the jolly cornerstone day, and the Commence- 
ment season could compare in pleasure, real and anticipated 
with the early morning ride, in the bouncing wagon, neath 
shooting stars, through the mists of the valley and the shades 
of the forest, that rough tumble and scramble down the hills 
and up them again, into the wagon and out again, up the 
muscadine vine and down again, over the fence toward -the 



ENOREE. 65 

apple tree and down the tree and back over the fence 
toward the wagon as the farmer's dog appears. And, oh, that 
wonderful race to the river growing more intense as the 
bounds of oarefoot boys followed fiercely by the deserted 
wagons, neared its banks, striving hard to prevent the rays 
of the rising sun. And that delicious consciousness of free- 
dom as the spirit of the wildwood entered into the young ex- 
plorers, and that gladness of the untried which every young 
heart feels as it stands before the tempting depths of the shad- 
owy forest ! And then the honest pride of the sturdy lad 
whose tongue first truly could say, "Yonder she is," and 
whose foot first touched its muddy waters in symbol of his 
victory. How he tells and re-tells it over till every boy has 
heard a hundred times 3 even the lazy fellows that stayed by 
the stuff in the wagons. Then comes the first meal of the 
day, and the boys are ready for it. With wonderful alacrity 
the kindling is brought and the smoke begins to rise. There 
the two boys have come back from the old well bringing the 
bucket of w r ater for the breakfast coffee and the great basket is 
opened upon a rocky bluff overlooking the river, and from its 
depths is drawn the simple meal. And then before a morsel 
has touched the lips, the orphan lads thank their Father that 
he has made the world so full of happiness and love, and 
reared up such kind friends for his fatherless children. 

The meal is over and now the younger lads are producing 
from their pockets the string and hooks necessary for the 
day's fun. Already some of the more professional are smil- 
ing with grim satisfaction as they feel the significant tug 
while others of the more adventurous sort may be seen wad- 
ing with their pants rolled up over their knees upon the 



66 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

shoals of the opposite side. And thus is filled up the day 
A ride, a ramble, a fishing pole, a bite, a bath, a return ride, 
all this mingled with joy and laughter and good-will and joke 
and song and yell and story and prayer. Such is Enoree. 

No wonder that many years after, the old man in the pul- 
pit or pew, in the farm or shop, in Carolina or Japan, thinks 
of the boy as he laughs under the sycamore tree or wades over 
the shore or nods by the river bank or follows the mighty cur- 
rent of the onward rolling Enoree. 

The time for the swim had come, Uncle Billy had called 
in his boys, the older ones had been given instructions about 
watching the younger and all had been warned of the whirl- 
pool near the mill dam and close to the water race. " Splash," 
the lithe young form had buried itself in the golden waters of 
the river, and a moment later with blinking eyes and parted 
hair emerges from the water, then follows another and 
another until the Mill pond seems literally alive with inhabi- 
tants, swimming, diving, cutting'^sumblee sets", now wad" 
i ig to the bank onlv to return to its delicious depths. 

It was toward the close of the bath. Many of the boys 4 
had, with a lingering glance at the coveted stream, betaken 
themselves to their clothes. A few others were sitting on 
the bank, watching their companions and seemingly unable to 
decide whether the waters or the watching was the more at- 
tractive. All had kept their distance from the dangerous 
whirlpool. 

Suddenly a shrill voice was heard : "I scream and Dun- 
key Look a yonder." All looked in the direction in 

which the dripping arm of Tommy Quigley pointed. It took 
o..ly a moment for the blood of all to chill. There in the 



68 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

heart of the pool, whirled a little body, his small white arms 
battling with the *vaves. his water-filled lungs unable to 
utter a cry for hdp. How long he had been there ro one 
knew. nor whether it was the first, the second or the third time 
that his bloodless face was sinking beneath the waters or 
whether he was dead already. As the wild birds rush away 
from the trap when one of their number is caught, the other 
boys had instinctively shrunk back from the pool. The older 
boys were paralyzed for a moment, and their unwilling eyes 
watched the little form sink for perhaps the last time because 
their bodies were powerless to prevent it. 

Then suddenly, no one knew from whence, there was a 
splash in the water and a supple swimmer with a bold stroke 
struck out for the child. In a moment, it seemed ages to the 
watchers, he was there. But would the little fellow rise 
a^ain! They watch in breathless suspense, only God and 
time could answer that question. The swimmer is treading 
the water now. See, he bends, something has touched him 
beneath the v\ ater. He is reaching down, now he is drawing 
it up, yes it is he, the little boy. Lifeless? No thank God ! 
he lives ! 

But the swimmer's strength is nearly spent, the strong 
current is bearing him onward and the pool is sucking him 
under, and now with the added weight of the child he is 
sinking still lower till his head is almost submerged. It is 
certain that he cannot fight his way back as he went. There 
is but one hope, will he see it? Ah, yes, see him, he is rising 
again, he strikes out bravely, not for the bank but the dam. 
Thank God he is away from the vortex of the pool now. 
Look, he is nearing its edge. There now he is at the dam, 



ENORBE. 69 

* 

another strong stroke and he will touch it. At last he steadies 
himself, and the waves lift them up as they rest on the dam. 
Look! he is bending over the form he has just saved. He is 

beckoning to us that the lad still lives. "Hurrah for '' 

"Who is that feller?" "Who is it?" "BigUn, that's yer 
coward, ole man, Hurrah for Lep Carter." 

"If I aint the biggest fool on earth then, Joe's dead and 
Sal's a widder," was Big Un's only response, and more than 
one of the boys was thinking that Lep swam like he prayed, 
in earnest. 



The Home Trip* 



ONLY a few moments usually intervene between the morn- 
ing dive and the dinner bell. Ah ! I have forgotten, 
take the above expression metaphorically or else substitute a 
Y for the B. This meal like the morning one is very simple 
yet very much appreciated, It need hardly be said that Lep 
Carter received the Benjamin's portion. 

After dinner comes the shower dip at Horse-shoe Falls. 
The water, coming as it does from a small tributary to the 
Enoree, is clearer and purer and colder than the yellow waters 
of the larger stream. 

There is just a tinge of romance about it too, when one 
of the older lads better versed in romantic lore than the others 
tells them of Horse-shoe Robinson and of the novel by that 
name whose scene was here, and that they are bathing in 
waters whose murmurs mingled with a lover's tender notes 
many years ago. When the dip in the fall is over, the boys 
return in a desultory fashion to the camping ground across 
the long bridge and lounge around the wagons, where thev 
join others who have been berrying, fishing, joking or 
bird egg huntiug for the museum. They had but reached the 
latter when the miller, covered over with white flour, at once 
the badge and blood of his life, in a concerned tone addressed 
the boy's commander : 

"Mr. W : There's a nigger here that's mighty sick. 

He came awalkin to the mill a few hours ago and was taken 
violent almost immejitly. We done all we could for l im and 



72 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

sont fer er doctor an' he gave him some medicine an tole 'im 
ter git home quick's possible. Seein' as how he lives up your 
way I kinder thought yer mout er had room in der waggin. 
He's too sick ter walk, and I dunno what's ther matter with 
him. What yer think, can yer take 'im." 

"Ye-es ef he kin stan' it we kin, I guess. He ain't per- 
ticuler 'bout his bed clothin' is he. Kin he put up with the 
waggin'." 

"Oh he's gittin' better and the shakin' may do him some 
good. He's in hyer." 

Accordingly, with the help of the boys who were most 
heartily willing to be good Samaratans the colored gentleman 
was soon lying on an improvised bed of straw and seemed in 
a fair way for a nap. He seemed to have forgotten some- 
hing however, for before he finally dozed off, which occurred 
soon after the wagon began to move, he told one of the boys 
to "be sho an onsleep him" when the party reached Dun- 
can's Creek, a stream half way between Enoree and Clinton. 

And so the procession began to move. Hot and dusty it 
is but the boys are only the more vociferously crying "gone 
to Gusty." Many are the songs, well or half remembered 
which fill the air, such as the following which was a general 

favorite : 

"What's the use er me workin so hard 

Sugar-baby. 
What's the use er me workin so hard, 
I got a woman in the white folks yard, 
Sugar-baby." 

Bring me meat and bring me lard 

Sugar-baby, 
Brings me meat and brings me lard 



THE RETURN TRIP. 73 

Bring me chicken from the white folks yard. 
Sugar-baby." 

Stories too, galore, as when Dawse the story-teller was 
asked to draw one from his repertoire just after they left 
Byrd's. [Byrd's was the Jacob's well by the roadside 
whither the boys went up for a drink, invariably, on their re- 
turn trip.] 

"Well, le's see, we wuz talkin'bout swimmin' an'fightin, 
an' punchin' an' I don't know but, well I tell you there's 
some good fellows 'at won't fight, like Lep in front there, 
then there's some that's good now that useter fight like hurry- 
kin. When I wuz a kid I useter hyer the big boys talk about 
a fight two little fellers had at the Orph'nidge once." 

You see wen a new boy come to the Orph'nidge, it'uz 
jus like puttin down a new rooster in wid some ole uns. It 
aint agoin ter take long to find out which uns are the games. 

One time there wuz a little new feller 'at come in and he 
look like a spunky little chap. He wuz called "Dobby." 
Well, bout the fust thing this yer Dobby done wuzter kinder 
let down his wing and strut a little and kinder flop 'um up 
and'crow. There wuzn't but one feller 'at uz little enough to 
match 'im, and it didn't take the boys long to get 'im at it. 
Fud wuz the man and he 'lowed Dobby wuz kinder dress-up, 
and Dobby 'lowed Fud better git a little mo so, and Fud sor- 
ter thought Dobby might be a little stuckup wid it all, and 
Dobby lowed he'd better shet up, er he'd git stuck up; and 
Fuddy let out 'at sech remarks were sumwat more like the ole 
boy'n a new un. 

Dobby didn't zackly understan that and proceeded to re- 
mark 'at he wuz older and smarter'n anoter little kid he 



74 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

knowed and cud wallup a dozen like 'im ; which Fuddy tho't 
he couldn't, and they proceeded to put the thing ter an actual 
test. Well it didn't take either one long ter git enuff an as 
they kinder slowed up, Dobby happened ter say 'at he whupt. 
which Fud wouldn't admit as suitable testimony, so that, by 
time they'uz throo gittin their waistes buttoned up'n de dus 
off'n der pants, they'z at it agin. 'N it took a little longer'n 
hurt a little mo'n their fust un ; but it ended up pretty soon 'n 
deyre came some more fun. Fud wuz kinder tuff and wuzn't 
hut much, 'cep' skinnt Up roun 'is shins ; but Dobby's gills 
and comb wuz pecked up consid'rble, cause he cudn't see'im 
and wuz too mad to feel'im. And wen Fud called the atten- 
shun uv the onwatchers to the party 'at had ther most bruises, 
Dobby wasn't willin ter it, aud Fud hadn't more'n said it 
t'.ie second time 'fore he'd anudder fight on his hands. This 
un wuz a little longer and wuss'n the third. Fudd kin- 
der got 'im down, and as he didn't fancy keepin the thing 
Up all day he kinder kep 'im down* After that, Dobby wuz 
sorter agreed to 'd'mit 'at he uz walluped, but he lowed 'at 
'fore a week wuz over he'd whip 'at skallowag or 
Joe'd die and leave Sal a widder. But the other party wuzn't 
willin fur that either and proceeded to show him up to the 
effect 'at he wudn't,;whup 'im nex week nor nebber, an' — " 

A bounce on the wagon stopped the narration for a mo- 
ment. Before it could be resumed one of the listeners had ask- 
ed whether they kept on fighting till the dinner bell rang, and 
another had observed that he would like to know where these 
pugnacious individuals could now be found, if indeed, a 
kind nature had permitted them to draw so many breaths of 
air. 



THE. RETURN TRIP. ,75 

"An' yer doan berlieve it uz a fact, eh? Well maybe 
you'd be sprised ef I uzter tell yer whare them young uns is 
ter be found ter day ! " 

"Let it out pieman; doant be skeert ter tell um ther 
truth ! " ' 'Well lissen hyear then. Dobby iz preachin in one 
uv ther biggest chuches in ther state er South Carolina ; and 
Fud is ther boss editor uv a big religious newspaper. How's 
that fur high?" 

It would have been better for low, as just about that mo- 
ment the wagon gave a tremendous lurch and bounce that 
nearly shook everybody from their seats. A natural effect 
was to turn the attention of the company to their sick ward. 

"Bullfrogs and little fishes, ef we aint done furgot!" 

"Furgot what, Sam?" 

''Look o'yonder," pointing to the sleeping darkey, who 
seemed to have recovered so far as not to mind the bouncing 
of the wagon. "He tole us to wake 'im up at Duncan's 
Creek, and we done carried 'im mouty near ter Jack Hol r 
land's. 

Upon every face could be read both surprise at their for- 
getfulness and dismay at its result. It meant nearly foiir 
long miles of extra bouncing in the first place, and in the 
second that they would, miss the Grand Entree to the yard, 
where they were to be welcomed by the homestayers with 
cheers and songs. But there was no remedy for it. Nothing 
was left but to drive back to Duncan's Creek and wake the 
darkey up. So they made the trip, scarcely over anxious not 
to break their ward's snooze. This, however, did not occur 
and at last they reached the creek, when one of the boys gave 
the negro a push and woke him up. ) . 



76 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

"Here's Duncan's Creek, pard ; we're at it now." 

"Weze hyar, is we? Wal suh ; an' it doan seem ter me 
no time sence we lef Musgrove's. Is I bin asleep?" 

"Yes, an' we didn't wake yer up, because we thought 
it would be better gittin bounced up asleep'n awake." 

"I sho is glad, boss, and de doctor giv me sumpin an' 
tole me it 'd mek me sleep, and said 'at I mus sho be woke 
up and take sum ub anudder kind at Duncan's Creek ; an' say, 
boss, I is powful oblige. You uns doan wake me up any 
mo till we git ter Clinton, please gemmins," and having 
swallowed a powder he settled himself back for another nap. 

'•Well, I'll be dog!" It was the colored driver who 
remarked. 

The journey home was completed in more or less silence. 

"Some time ago Rev. Dr. J. Y. Allison, of Baton Rouge La., made 
a donation of five hundred dollars to the Thornwell Orphanage to erect a 
summer cottage for the use of the Orphanage family during the summer. 
Mr. T. C. Scott of the Orphanage, purchased a farm of eighty acres over- 
looking Enoree river and made a present of it to the Orphanage. During 
the Spring the cottage was built and named Riverside Cottage. It will 
accommodate about twenty-five children at a time. 

At intervals during the summer, such of the children as were not in- 
vited to the homes of friends to spend their vacation were given an out- 
ing at Riverside Cottage. They have enjoyed it hugely and there can be 
no doubt that the two gifts of farm and house were in the line of the 
most intelligent charity. The projected Spartanburg and Clinton rail- 
road will run near the Riverside farm and a station will be located with- 
in a mile of it. This will be a great convenience for the children and of- 
ficers when it comes about, as it may by next summer. The boys are ad- 
vocating building a gasoline launch. If it is built, it will be the product 
of the Orphanage Technical School; even the engine will be built by the 



THE RETURN TRIP. 



77 



boys and their teachers. A skiff built in the Technical School for use 
during the past summer, though the first effort in the way of naval con- 
struction, was quite a success." — Southern Presbyterian. 







laKs 




REV. S. P. FULTON. 




Poems, 

de la Quigley and Rob* 

JOHN Lavender was our poet-laureate. He 
would occasionally get off some good 
tnings, equal only to Lutz, his successor in ut. 
tering the unutterable. I remember once when 
Quigley left the Orphanage and wanted to be 
a sailor. We all tried to get him to stay and 
Doctor advised him not to go> but he would do it. A day or 
two after he had left, John's time came around for a composi- 
tion in school and instead, he handed in a poem, somewhat to 
the teacher's surprise and very much to her delight. Here 
it is • 

I. 
AURORA. 

On an ocean's bosom bright and blue, 

In a land not far away, 
A beautiful ship with a joyous crew 

Was gliding peacefully. 
And afar to the prow, under cloudless skies, 

As they bounded away from the shore, 
Stood a strong, young lad with glistening eyes, 

Ever eagerly looking before. 

No tears were there as are wont to be, 
No sorrowful heaving breast; 



So BTBATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WIIf&. 

No sigh for the home he would long to see, 

Where oft he would long to rest. 
For he thought of the heavens bright and blue, 

Of the ocean wild and free, 
And he thought of the ship so staunch and true, 

And he dreamed of the untried sea. 

II. 
VESPER. 

O'er the treacherous ocean's heaving blue 

Near a land in the faraway, 
A shattered ship with a shattered crew i 

Was seeking a friendly bay. 
And afar to the stern as the clouds gathered fast, 

And the breakers began to roar, 
Bent a shattered man with his eyes on the past 

Dreaming of childhood's shore. 

And the blinding tears there fell unseen, 

And there was the heaving breast, 
And the sigh for the home where he might have been, 

Where nevermore he would rest. 
For he thought of the howling wintry blast, 

And he thought of the raging sea, 
And he longed for an harbor where storms are past, 

The harbor where soon he would be. 

When Rob's eyes gave out at College — (Let me explain : 
Just across from the orphanage is the Presbyterian College of 
South Carolina, opposite the McCormick Home. The 
Orphanage holds six scholarships there and six of its oldest 
and best equipped boys can use them.) Well, when Rob's 
eyes gave out, John tried all sorts of ways to cheer him up. 
Their conversation had an effect upon the literature of the pe" 



S2 



NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 



riod at the Orphanage as is evidenced by the following, found 
in John's algebra and deciphered after much trouble : 

JOHN; 

Rob, look up! the prospect dazzles 'tis so fair, 
Sweetest music fills exhilarating air, 
Happy skies of blue above thee, 
And a world, a God to love thee. 
All a universe can give thee, 
Take thy share. 



ROB: 



JOHN: 



ROB: 



But the way is weird and lonely that I tread, 
And the dark, grey sky so chilly overhead 
Never leaves a pathway open, 
For one ray of joy and hope, and 
I despairingly must grope in 
Growing dread. 

Though the way be dark aud lonely thou art safe. 
Though the shadows deepen ever toward the grave, 
Dead leaves make the Spring the greener, 
Dead hopes help the soul to glean her 
Harvest rich. From self they vean her, 
On! Be brave! 

'Tis so hard to trust in spring-time, when the trees 
Bend before the blast of Winter's icy breeze, 
Hard to trust in springing flowers, 
Warbling birds and shady bowers, 
When the threatening storm-cloud lowers 
O'er billowy seas. 



A Mid-Summer Night's Dream, 




Y 



OU may laugh at it and poke fun at it and 
look disgusted at it as much as you please, 
but it still will be true that barring liquor, love 
is the only power that can make the world go round. We 
need it badly. The condemned criminal with his fiendish 
countenance and shrunken brow about to die like a dog, dif- 
fers from the judge who pronounced the death sentence, chief- 
ly in this one essential feature. 

The smooth-faced villain, who carries poison under his 
tongue and who scatters firebrand, arrows and death, saying 
"Am I not in sport?" differs from the honorable man who vi- 
tuperates him primarily in this element. Would God we had 
more of it. A little taffy now is worth a good deal of epi- 
taphy after awhile they say and if men and women would just 
tell one another of their interest in each other's welfare, the 
world would be so much happier. We save our flowers for 
the grave when hearts are breaking for them all around us. 
We weep over the hand so cold and white, the hand that never 
thrilled with joy at a warm and cheery 1 * shake. We say such 
sweet things over the tomb, where rests the one who never 
heard from our lips a word of love or encouragement. May 
God forgive us, the God who has told us freely of his own 
love.. 



86 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

And there is another thing about it. I have been young 
and now am old — though not very — and I have never yet seen 
the reason why folks call the affections of those of tender age, 
puppy-love. There is nothing fair about such nomenclature, 
unless that of the older ones be houndish. You may search 
the wide world through in vain, for a purer, sweeter, holier 
emotion than that which the old folks are accustomed con- 
temptuously to style puppy-love, when found in their children. 
There is nothing puppyish about it. I defy any one to hon- 
estly and truly affirm he ever loved more purely, more nobly, 
more fervently than when his young heart first bared itself un- 
consciously as yet, to the arrows of the divine Eros, and 
kneeled in its first homage at his shrine. Treat not with con- 
tempt the humble loves of the little ones, but learn from them 
the lesson of spotless, spiritual, passionless affection felt only 
by them and by the angels and by Him who said "Of such 
is the kingdom of Heaven." 

The bright summer days had come at the Orphanage, the 
days when the children revelled in the prospects of holiday 
and its attendant fun. Simple indeed, and yet to them, how 
rich were those pleasures. There were the long wood-ram- 
bles, jolly water-melon cuttings and merry games, which were 
only suspended when the young players could bear it no long- 
er. Then too, in the evenings, how delightful to loll under the 
dark shades of the trees on the campus and rehearse the day's 
adventures and the morrow's prospects. Sometimes, too, 
wher. ihe ehildren had been specially good, the boys were al- 
lowed to leave the confines of the dear old McCormick and 
visit their fair young sisters of the Home of Peace and frolic in 
gladness around the evergreens of the front yard. Many merry 



A MID-SUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 



S7 




'AROUND THE EVER-GREENS. 



moments were spent in "Base" and "Goosy Goosy Gander." 

There were no such days 
as those, no nor ever shall 
be-unless-well yes, un- 
less it was when they all 
met in the house for an 
old-fashioned orphanage 
sociable. The "Base" 
became "Steal Partners'* 
and "Fox and Gander" 
"Cross- questions" and 
"Old Hundred" w a s 
changed to "Jake grinn- 
ed at me." 

How the old rooms did ring with laughter so lusty and 
bounding that the solid granite walls seemed about to yield 
to the irrepressible joy. Long years have passed, but none 
who were present at those gatherings have ever forgotten them. 
It was on such a night, that one of the lads fell. It was 
a long struggle and a hard one but at last he gave out and fell 
— in lave. It was not Henley's fault, ordinarily he was a so- 
ber and level-headed boy, and had very seldom lost his head 
or his heart. Perhaps it was the balmy air or the vacation 
idleness, or more likely, the coyness of the maiden that at 
last intoxicated him that a new color began to appear in his 
horizon. The humdrum of the summer days became enliven- 
ed with interest and all things became new. It was at the 
old game of "Steal Partners" that it happened, and it was 
then that the love-liquor he had been drinking for quite a 
while, first began to seriously affect his mind. Mattie was in 



$8 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

the ring and her old "feller" was watching with averted eye, 
knowing which one she would choose when they all sang : 

"Fly to the east and 
Fly to the west and 
Fly to the very one 
You love best." 

And it happpened just as he expected, Mattie chose Mack. 
Everybody knew she would do it and she might as well do it 
anyhow, for if she hadn't they would all have said she was 
ashamed. And how Mack's heart swelled with pride as the 
little hand that he prized more than his own rougher palm, 
was stretched out to him and how they both blushed as the 
circle continued. 

"Now you're married you must obey, 
Now you're married you mnst obey, 
You must be true, you must be kind 
You must do all that she bids you. " 

The young lad may live long and grow much. A physician, 
he may stand by the bedside of death, and. bidding defiance to 
that monster's claims, drive him back to his own dark domin- 
ions and reclaim the sufferer from his terrors ; a lawyer, his 
eyes may fill as after a long and trying case he has saved an 
innocent man's life ; a governor or President, he may relieve 
the adulation of many multitudes, but none of these nor all 
of them could ever equal the unalloyed bliss of that moment. 

But it was well for the young master of hearts that h« 
did not look behind him, for the jealous eyes and determined 
features of another lad would have set him to wondering if 
his Mattie could be held against all odds. Henley had 
watched the performance eagerly. To be sure, he expected 



A MID-SUMMER NIGHT'S DREA.M. 89 

nothing else, and yet it was with a little feeling of dismay 
that he saw it turn out as he knew it would. But then and 
there he resolved there was to be a battle for the maiden, and 
that in at least one case none but the brave should deserve or 
hold the fair. Go it, young hearts, it is but a transcript of 
life's long struggle you are beginning to enter. Be true and 
brave and courageous, and fight hard and honorably, of such 
are the princes of the earth. 

But there was all the difference in the world between 
Henley's resolve and its execution. To the latter he immedi- 
ately devoted himself. The boys and girls wondered why he 
sat so quietly in his corner all during the games that evening, 
seemingly caring nothing for the fun in which he had been 
accustomed to revel, disregarding every attempt to pull 
him into the gay circle. But while others were merry he was 
planning, and when the ten o'clock bell rang for the disper- 
sing of the party, he rose as one who knew and was confident 
that he would shortly b e master, and master of some- 
thing that was worth being master of. That night as "Big 
Un" and Jno. L. were going home, Henley joined them, and 
told them to come to his room immediately. A few moments 
later found the trio in close consultation. Henley's face was 
all light now. Jno. L seemed interested, but "Big Un" 
was a little indifferent to the scheme he was proposing. 

"I tell you, fellows, there aint no use in wastin' this 
summer huntin' blackberries an goin' washin. Let's have 
some fun, some sho nuff fun. We three fellows can work 
things a lot better than just one, and there aint three finer 
girls in the country than them three." 

"But, Henley, don't you know Fannie don't care any- 



9 o 



NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 



thing for me, I dor't like her nohow; her nose is too long 
and she looks too much like a sheeny." 

"Aw, Jno. L., that's the fun in the thing. You want 
to make her fall in love with you, and so'll "Big Un" have 
to make Bertie, but I'm in a lot's worse fix than you fellows. 
for Mattie is dead in love with Mack, and everybody knows 
it." 

"There's this much about it, 'Big Un.' I aint never had 
no use for Mack since he told where our plum thicket was, 
and I would just like to help Henley cut him out. He's been 
sporting Mattie mighty heavy too long anyhow." 

Well then, fellows, I'll tell you what we'll do. k Big 
Un,' you take Bertie and Jno. L. take Fanny and I'll try 
Mattie. We'llrun together, an' set rabbit gums together, an" 




"YOU TAKE BERTIE, AND JNO. L. TAKE FANNIE 
AND I'LL TRY MATTIE." 



A MID-SUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 91 

go muscadine hunten' together and we'll get them to runnin' 
together, and if we do that I believe in a week or two Mack's 
ji^'ll be up. 

And so they talked and planned. Henley had some diffi- 
culty in getting his two friends to join the triumvirate ; but, 
once in, they went at it in earnest. He had to persuade Jno. 
L. a little, too, to reconcile him to Fannie, whom he had se- 
lected for him because of her influence on Mattie. And "Big 
Un" would have liked to have had Henley's girl, but consent- 
ed at last to take the one allotted to him, chosen also with an 
eye to her possible usefulness in love lawyering. As the 
night wore on they became more and more interested in the 
scheme, and the early rising bell found them putting the fin- 
ishing touches on it. 

"All right, fellows. Now don't say anything to a soul 
about it, and we'll start the ball rolling today." And Hen- 
ley, a little red eyed but unboundedly happy, meant every 
word he said. 

That very morning he had his opportunity. Fannie was 
sitting in the swing and he leisurely sauntered up to her. 
They had always been great friends, and she had begun to 
suspect he was soft on her girl bosom-friend. 

"Say, Henley, what was the matter with you last night? 
Did Mack get ahead of you?" 

•'Well, Fan, he's been ahead so long that it don't seem 
unnatural to let him stay, does it? But say yourself. Did 
you know that you had caught a new beau." 

"No; who is it?" 

"Now don't try to fool me that way, — you know it, I be- 
lieve, as well as I do." 



92 NEATH THK SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

•'I declare I don't. Who on earth can you mean?" 
"Do you mean ter say, Fan, that you can't tell when a 
boy like Jno. L. falls in love with you?" 

"Jno. L. ! Oh tadpoles and little fishes. Are you 
dreaming, Henley, my lad, or just a little out of your sens- 
es." 

"Oh, pshaw! Now don't try to put on like that. He 
owned up to me a while ago ; and 'Big UnV gone on Bert 
too, 'n there aint two finer fellows in the Orphanage. 

Just then some other girls came to the swing, and the 
conversation was interrupted. But Henley had sown his 
first seed ; he had started the ball a rolling. The next day 
Beriie's heart felt a new and strange sensation; she had 
heard that "Big Un" was struck, and was going to sport her 
if she'd sport him. Such were the plans, and such were the 
terms of the children. 

And so the scheme began to work. Nothing noticeable 
at first, only that Henley and Jno. L. and "Big Un" were 
always to be seen together. Then some one called attention 
to the fact that Fannie and Bertie and Mattie were "pidners." 
Mack noticed the change almost immediately, and began to 
suspect something, but said nothing about it. Soon the two 
trios could be seen on all lawful and possible occasions to 
have something in common and though only giggles and 
grunts and blushes could be seen or heard such language was 
gloriously eloquent to those who understood. Gradually it 
came about as Henley said it would. John L. did fall in 
love with Fannie, and "Big Un" with Bertie, and they with 
the boys. As for himself he already knew his own heart, 



A MID-SUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 93 

and each day seemed to be bringing him nearer to the end of 
his ambition. 

The scheme which he had formed was a new one for the 
Orphanage, but wisely and philosophically laid. Hitherto 
the sole dependence of the young lovers, outside of their own 
stammering efforts, had been the daysman, the mediator who 
went between the parties and talked up for both sides. This, 
Fannie was still doing for Henley, but the power of the plan 
was in the triumvirate. It is easier to fall in love in company 
with some one else, 'tis so at least with boys and girls. Hen- 
ley watched eagerly for the success of his plans. Girls 
always have an easier time here than boys. The latter can't 
help telling it. Every leaf on the tree, every star in heaven 
seems to know it and his guilty conscience must show it. 
Sometimes it was a smile at the table, and then another 
smile, or better a third smile, and the fourth never passed 
without proving indisputably that the next bouqnet of violets 
that came from the dell in the hands that belonged to those 
eyes would be found in hers as soon as his lawyer could hand 
them over. But the surest sign of all was the muscadines. 
Before the fall no lad ever brought home a single one of the 
many he so laboriously climbed and struggled for. Afterward, 
however, the same lad always examined carefullv before \he 
left for his S iturday afternoon excursion for hi6 red handker- 
chief, to see if it was there and large enough — it never mat- 
tered about the last time it had seen the washtub — to inclose 
the load of luscious fruit it would bear to the lassie at home. 
It is a beautiful picture, that of the young boy and a bright an- 
gel image ever floating before his eyes — an image of beauty 
and happiness to him. Ever present, whether it was as he 



94 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

climbed the knotty oak or swung out on the rocking vine or 
braved the angry poison oak. There she was and the face 
carried with it a benediction of peace and love. 

Not so beautiful, )et equally attractive was that same lad 
when the solemn chimes of the church bells called the saints 
of God to worship. Before, his drowsy eyes had to be prop- 
ed open with many a kindly pinch or twitch designed to save 
him from the punishment which would surely follow his being 
seen asleep bv his matron. Now, the preacher might preach 
as long as he pleased and the longer the better, for at least 
every minute he would win a smile from her who satin the 
opposite corner and who moved in each short interval just far 
enough to see and be seen. I do not think the angels of God 
consider that as impious as we. jealous for His honor, are 
accustomed to do. He that dwelleth in love, dwelleth in 
God, for God is love. 

But we must not forget one of the chiefest of joys of 
those bright days — the jacks and mumblepeg. Never were 
they happier than when seated on the stone steps, or 
under the shady oaks, they successively counted 5, 10, 15, 
20, wound safely around the "snake," threw "ups and 
downs'' the required number of times, and jumped the "ele- 
phant." Or, if it was mumblepeg, what a privilege to be 
allowed to root the peg if bad luck threw it to her turn, 
and there was nothing but joy and promise in that laugh 
which under other circumstances would have been a bitter 
mockery. Smile, friend, but not in derision, at such emo- 
tions as these, for such are they which develope into the fire 
that carries the trembling soldier into the cannon's mouth, and 
burns the midnight oil of the student's lamp. Such were the 



A MID-SUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 



95 



signs, and such were the rewards of love when the writer 
was a lad at Thorn well; and such are they still, — the same 
hearts, the same hopes, the same tokens, only different faces 
and different names. 

As the summer wore on the fruits of Henley's scheme 
became more apparent. At last, one day — it was late in Au- 




"SHE DID NOT EVEN LOOK AT HIM. 



gust — the trio had a great plan to be executed, whereby, both 
they could enjoy themselves ahd Henley could test his case. 
It was nothing less than a candy-pull. The boys furnished 
the molasses. For a whole long week they put in their spare 
time to earn its value ; and when the expected Saturday came. 



96 NEATH THE SHADOW GF HIS WING. 

it found the six ready, Mack had tried to join the crowd, 
but had failed, and then in spite, as Henley knew he would, 
had gotten up his own pull and invited Mattie to reign at it. 
This was the test, and Henley conquered. Even when 
Mack, with his hands full of the gummy candy, paraded by 
the stand of the triumvirate, and tried to entice Mattie to his 
own kettle she was not moved. Nay, she did not even look 
at him, and Henley knew his plan had been successful, the 
prize was his. A few nights later in the merry-go-round 
ring, when the circle was chanting : — 
Fly to the east and 
Fly to the west and 
Fly to the very one 
That you love best. 
Henley and not Mack was the one who was chosen to blush 
as they continnued : 

•'Now you're married you must obey, 

Now you're married you must obey, 

You must be true, you must be kind, 

You must do all that she bids yon." 
But, alas, his triumphs were short. Scarce two weeks 
had passed before the doors of a neighboring college were 
thrown open for the fall session and the young lad was forced 
to relinquish his well-earned prizes and enter the field of high- 
er and more intellectual battles. This of itself, would not 
have rendered a retreat necessary, but the unfortunate part of 
it all was that the college hours and those of the orphanage so 
harmonized or rather so did not harmonize that Henley was 
at his work all morning until two in the afternoon and Big 
Un and Jno. L. entered upon their school work at just that 
hour. So that it was impossible to hold the triumvirate to- 



A MID-SUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 97 

gether. But the saddest part of all was when Mack, who 
had made his peace with the two others, slowly and silently 
took the place vacated by his conqueror. The plan survived 
its former, the machine outlasted its manufacturer, but what 
Henley thought of the proceeding may be seen from the fol- 
lowing clipping from his journal : 

"And all for nothing. That little rascal I downed is on 
top again. I wish there wasn't and never had been no Cae- 
sar nor Goodwin I'd a been a lots happier. I sho have dug a 
pit and fell in it myself. Wus still, I have dug a well and 
another man is drinkin all the water. I have planted a vine- 
yard and he is gittin all the grapes. I built a house and can't 
sleep in it. But that's all right, if it hadn't been for all this 
miserable bosh at college I wouldn't a been the under dog, 
not by two rows of white teeth and a double set o' claws, in 
fact, not by upardsuv er considerable." 



The Angels' Visits* 




L 



EP Carter was a good boy. Not a l goody 
goody," but plain simple good. He was 
not afraid of a fight. Big Un's test on the 
ball ground was no fair test, but he would 
■t' k- *QX\H never fight about a thing that was not worth 
|(|(^ SS, ^ := fJ fighting about. Ever since the memorable 
day at Enoree he had been a sort of hero 
among the boys and it had become decidedly popular to hold 
one's temper when a cause for dispute arose. Perhaps too, 
he possessed above the usual amount of thoughtfulness and 
strict honesty, and such traits could not exist among the boys 
and not result in higher ideals of life. Perhaps one of the 
reasons of his greater thoughtfulness could be found in his 
weaker constitution. Father and mother had both died of 
consumption and Lep had begun lately to show signs of a sim- 
ilar tendency. 

One night, it was late in February, when the rain and 
sleet were falling fast outside and the trees were moaning un- 
der their loads of ice, the boys sat gathered around the open 
fireplace in the sitting room. It was just such a night that 
the cherry blaze within would most sharply contrast with the 
coldness and gloom without — a night when the boys used to 
love to gather round the glowing coals and "talk good talk." 

This was just what they had been doing and as it was almost 

LofC. 



too NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

time for retiring, some one blew out the lamp that was sitting 
on the table. This only added to the attractiveness of the 
scene in the eyes of the boys. The fitful glare of the fire, the 
long shooting shadows dancing over floor and will, the glim- 
,mer of the light against the ice as the sleet rang its tattoo 
against the window-pane. All conspired to suggest thoughts 
and stories and the weirdness of the scene to impress them the 
more deeply. 

'•Do you all see that coal down there" said one of the 
boys, * 'right between those two big ones, see its wings and 
body and head? I declare it looks just like er angel!" 

"Did you ever see er angel, Jim?" 

"No 'n I guess ther aint nobody else roun hyer seen any, 
but that aint no sign, fur a man can't no mo see er angil 'n a 
steam engine kin draw er conclusion. Angils is spirits an' 
we aint." 

"D'yer ever see anybody 'at had seen one, Jim?" 

"No, I dont believe, Hoi' on, d' yer ever hear 'bout 

Ida?" 

"Ida who?" 

"Oh, our Ida, ther aint never been but one Ida in this 
hyer orphanage, 'n nobody hasn't told yer 'bout her? Well, I 
wish I could." 

"Tell us Jim! The boys were interested now. The dy- 
ing embers and their weird shadows seemed just fitted to 
quicken their imagination. The warm velvety coals seemed 
so soft and kindly that their young hearts lost all the little 
sorrows of the day as they gazed into the spiritual depths of 
the fire. 

••Fellows, I only wish I could,— ~I know it well enough 



THE ANGELS' VISITS. 101 

too, but I aint fittin ter tell it. I feels like I uz talkin ter the 
Lord wen I thinks about that mornin'. But I am agoin ter 
try to tell yer, because — well — because it'll be a good thing 
fer yer to dream about." 

"Well, it aint been long either, only five or six years 
since we had a mighty bad spell er weather here. First it uz 
just as warm's summer and then come a mighty big freeze and 
the pipes busted and every thing busted and froze up, — and 
then come a long rainy spell. By the time the rain had kiner 
slacked up, there wuz four or five of the girls and one or two 
boys that the doctors wuz concerned about more'n usual, and 
that kiner cast a damper on the balance uv us. "Doctor" 
alluz prayed for the sick folks at chapel just like he does yet. 
But ore morning his voice kinder stuck when he got along 
there and we knowed somebody uz wuss. Nex mornin' it 
stuck a little mo and time after that — well I aint never 
heard no such prayer for nobody as them girls got that morn- 
in'. All bout um not havin' no fathers, and bout him bein' 
their father, and bout how he sure inus love um more'n we 
did, and I seen some of the fellows lips amovin' while he wuz 
prayin, and it kinier seemed to me that mornin' that the 
Lord and the angels couldn't be far off from that place ; and I 
jus knowed that they couldn't take Maggie and Tula off, — them 
uz the sick uns, the wust sick. Well all durin the day there 
wuzn't much said among us fellows. Everybody sorter 
worked quiet like. Bout ten erclock ther foreman sent me to 
ther office, 'n when I went I seen "Doctor" leanin' wid hi 
elbows on hiz khees an' hiz head sorter covered up wid his 
hand, an' I knowed what he'd bin doin\ Well, I hadn't no 
more'n got into the room 'fo hyer came a rap at ther do. 



102 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

an' without waitin' fer a "come in," Miss Lizzie come rush- 
in' in an' I saw sumpin wuz ther matter. 

" 'Whatisitmy daughter,' said Mr. Jacobs, n ther 
smile sorter lef hiz face, but Iseen by hiz count'nance he wuz- 
n't goin' ter believe that Tula or Maggie wuz gone. 

11 'Oh, Mr. Jacobs,' Miss Lizzie said, 'please come over 
to the Harriet Home. The doctor says little Ida is dying.' 

"I never did see nobody look jus like him when she said 
that ; he looked jus like somebody had slapped him in ther 
face ; he looked as tho ther Lord had slapped him in ther face. 

"But he didn't say a word ; he didn't even put on his 
overcoat, nor take his umbrella ; he didn't even put on his 
overshoes ; an' I don't believe he'd er took his hat if I hadn't 
reached out an' handed it ter him. He went out like er man 
in a dream — like er man dreamin' he wuz goin ter a hangin'. 

The next mornin' he told us what he saw there, and what 
he heard. He said : 'Little Ida was thoroughly conscious and 
wide awake. There was no appearance of the least wandering 
of mind. She knew she was dying and was anxious to see 
her mother before she left life on earth. As I stooped over 
her, sitting by her side, while death was nearing she whisper- 
ed — 'Mr. Jacobs, the angels have come into the room', and 
when she said it her thin pale, face lit up with an extraordina- 
ry intelligence. She spoke as one communicating extraordi- 
nary tidings. Looking up into my face she caught there the 
thought that filled me of doubt and surprise. 'Do you not see 
them,' she said, 'they are coming across the bed, they are 
there by you — two of them.' But I could not take my eyes 
from the little child's face. It was enraptured and full of glo- 
ry. 'They are beautiful — so beautiful — oh, so beautiful, she 



THE ANGELS' VISITS. 103 

murmured, and then with the same sweet smile with which 
she would tell of a great joy that had come to her, she whis- 
pered in my ear, 'They have come for me.' She never spoke 
again ; nor did she while she breathed lose that sweet smile, 
which made her even in death seem very lovely. Yes, my 
children, the angels have passed this way. Our dim eyes saw 
them not, but she, who sank gently to rest on last Thursday 
noon, had a vision that we might well envy. I rose from the 
side of our little sister, feeling that if one might die as she did 
there would be nothing terrible about it. Her physician tes- 
tifies that she was entirely conscious to the very last. There 
was much more in this death bed than can be interpreted by 
science. Our little girl was just a plain little girl, with no 
vivid imagination and only a child's mind. She saw what 
she said she saw.' 

"That uz all he said, 'cep when he finished, he looked 
down on us with the strangest look and said, 'Children, I 
wonder when the angels will come back again.' " 

Jim told his story better than he had anticipated, for 
when he finished there wasn't a boy prepared to look him 
straight in the eye. Even Crawf was looking away and mo- 
ving so that no one could see his eyes. Only Lep Carter 
spoke : 

"I would like to see the angels," he said, "and hear 
them talk of heaven. They must know everybody in heaven 
and they could tell me about" but Lep too, had to stop. 

Ever after that night Lep seemed even more earnest and 
thoughtful. He had been the best student in his class, now 
he became better than the best. His foreman had never 
known him to shirk a lick of work, and he now could oe seen 



104 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

working after the hour, when he thought he might be needed 
But he seemed more melancholy too and often after school he 
could be seen wandering in the woods, seemingly in deep 
thought and sometimes talking almost inaudibly to himself. 
One evening in the Spring while some of the boys were sit- 
ting at the root of an old oak tree they saw Lep approaching. 
He did not see them and came slowly on. He was murmur- 
ing something softly to himself and his face which had grown 
unnaturally pale during the last few weeks was turned up- 
ward as though he were watching the tops of the trees. One 
of the boys, more to attract his attention than anything else, 
said : 

'Hello Lep, what you thinkin' bout, you aint talkin in 
yer sleep are yer?" 

He stood a little surprised for a moment and then the fel- 
lows say that he looked at them with a strange light in his 
eyes, replied — 

•'Fellows, I was thinkin erbout Him, and wantin to talk 
to Him," and with a trembling hand he pointed to where his 
eyes had been. "Do you believe it fellows. Do you believe 
it all, all that Mr. Jacobs told us this mornin' in the chapel. 
Oh, if I jus' knew it, knew that Jesus loved me and died for 
me and that I was to see him in heaven some day. In heaven 
too, our fathers are there. I believe it fellows, but if I jus 
knew it!" 

The boys let him pass on. "Lep's lookin bad," said one 
of them. 

k Yes 'n if I hadn't known him all the time, I'd say that 
lookin' bad an' gettin' good go together." 

The boys were right, the lad's health was failing. It 



THE ANGELS' VISITS. 105 

took him some time longer than the others to see it, but during 
the damp days of the early Spring he learned his true condi- 
tion and his body wore away with the summer months. At 
last, one morning the boys missed him in his accustomed 
place and had no reason for asking what was the trouble. 
During the following weeks the news was always the same 
and at last the day came, the day when one of the lads asked 
the doctor how he was and the answer came back ''Leopold 
is very sick, he won't be with us long. 1 ' The lad went in- 
side and looked at Lep and then looked in the fire. 

Mrs. Fuller was reading: — "The Spirit of the Lord God 
is upon me because Jehovah hath appointed me to preach 
good tidings unto the meek, he hath sent me to bind up the 
broken hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the 
opening of the prison to them that are bound, to comfort all 
that mourn. To give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of 
joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of hea- 
viness." 

She had to stop here, Lep was coughing, he was very 
weak, his suffering was almost over. 

"In all their affliction he was afflicted, "she continued, 
'•and the angel of Hi. presence saved them, in his love and 
in his pity he redeemed and he bore them and carried them all 
the days of old." 

"Mrs. Fuller" his voice was weak, "I've always believed 
that, but its mighty hard to die. I wanted ter be a man, a 
real man so bad, 'n its awful — lonesome — to die." 

She made no answer, her eye had caught the next line — 

"Fear not I am with thee, Oh be not dismayed for I am 



106 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

thy God, I will strengthen thee, I will help thee, yea I will 
uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness." 

"Is that there? — in the book?" 

"Yes my boy and listen :" — "When thou passest through 
the waters I will be with thee and through the rivers they 
shall not overflow thee." 

"Oh Mrs. Fuller I'm so glad that's there, 'n He'll hav' 
ter come in a minute for I'm nearin' 'em now." 

She had closed the book and looking up into his face she 
saw that he was right. His feet were already in the waters, 
and He had come too. The little group around the bed were 
silent, only the whistling of the wind outside and the crack- 
ling of the fire within broke the stillness, the stillness of 
death. 

Then Lepold's lips began to move and then the voice be- 
came stronger and the last words were words of praver. 

"O Lord, give me strength to make this prayer. Help 
me to trust myself to Christ — forgive all my sins — give me 
grace to trust in Thee. If it had been Thy will I hoped to 
live a little longer. Bless my matron she is the best woman 
in the world. Bless Miss Lizzie, she is so good to me — bless 
all the boys and Mr. Jacobs, he's the best man round here. 
God, bless my little sisters, thy little girls and my brothers 
and these folks that have been so good to me. Give me 
strength to pray longer — for the missionaries, all those in for- 
eign lands. This I — Jesus' — sake." 

His words and his life ended together. 

"The angels have come back again" thought Jim, "and 
ey thcame to the one that wanted them." 



More Ball, 

THE base-ball season had rolled around again. It was a 
time of joy for the boys. There was no fun like that of 
the game and ordinarily it would have taken no seer to read 
the intense satisfaction on their faces. Somehow the boys 
did not seem as interested this year as formerly and the rea- 
son was not far to be sought. The President had heard of 
the last game and the nearness of a clash and the hard-feeling 
still remaining in the breasts of many of the boys and had 
forbidden them to play any more match games. They might 
pitch and catch a.^ong themselves as much as they pleased 
but there was to be no more occasion for free fights among 
them. The boys believed and yet hated to believe that he 
was right. No more ball ! Why what was the use of living 
any more. No more hard-fought struggles upon the field with 
friends yelling and girls waving handkerchiefs and everlast- 
ing glory just ready to alight upon him who knocked a home- 
run or caught the last fly. You say "yes but you can still 
play among yourselves" — Pshaw man! don't you know it 
ain't no fun to learn how to play unless you are going to get 
to play. What's the use or fun either in breaking your finger 
unless some big crowd is there to sympathize with you and 
some girl sends her handkerchief to tie it up. Oh no, nobody 
wanted to play a little measly game by themselves with not 
enough boys to have a fielder for each side. 



no NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

At first it seemed that the fellows were going to grin and 
endure it, but as the weather became warmer and they saw 
the town boys practicing, they could stand it no longer. 

•'Say fellows, I'll tell you what let's do, let's ask Doctor 
if we can't try it again and promise not to ever get mad, don't 
care how much they cheat." 

"But Corny, there aint no use, he wouldn't think of do- 
ing it. You know how he looked in chapel when he talked 
about it and he'd believe we was foolin." 

"Well, I don't care, and I believe if we were to ask him 
right he'd let us and I don't see no use in not tryin'. Dill, 
does he ever say anything about it around you?" 

Dill was Doctor's son and constituted a sort of prognos- 
ticating barometer as to the storminess or calm of the weather 
ahead, getting his information from chance rumors of his fa- 
ther at the supper table or around the fireside. 

"I haven't heard him say a word except yestiddy he ask- 
ed me why the boys were not playin' ball like they used 
to." 

"You see fellows he's thinking about it. Les get Dill to 
ask him and I bet he'll let us," 

"No sirree Corny, I'm not the man to do the asking he'd 
smell a rat sure. One of you fellows '11 have to do that." 

"Well, I cant do it for I'm the man nearly got in the 

fight." 

"Goat's the man to do it" said Twig, (so called as a di- 
minutive of Branch). "Doctor sorter likes Goat because he's 
quiet up in the printin' office." 

"Say Goat, do it old fellow and we'll give you the first 
pick on taters for a month." 



MORE BALL. in 

But Goat needed no urging, he was as anxious as any and 
so the following morning he found his way a little hesitating- 
ly, indeed, but bravely to the office and after a light rap, was 
invited in. He had to wait for a moment as a stranger was 
talking to the President. 

"Well, he must be a wonderful fellow," the man was 
saying, "I wish we had one up our way." 

"Yes indeed, he is, sir. Just to give you an example, 
last year his total salary was two hundred and twenty-eight 
dollars and he gave the orphanage the two hundred and spent 
the twenty-eight on himself." 

"You don't say so!" 

"Yes sir, and more than that, there doesn't a month pass 
that he doesn't bring in something and give it for the children's 
use. You saw the girls around a bicycle out yonder. Well 
he bought it and gave it to them. About three month's ago 
we needed a new roof for our dining hall and couldn't get the 
money to put it on and one day he brought it in and laid it 
down here on my desk. He has just gotten through buying a 
farm out at Enoree river for us, and last year he brought in a 
paid up policy of life insurance and said "it was for to make 
orphans glad when he was dead." 

"Why, where in the world does he get it all from?" 

"He gets it just as nobly as he gives it, some is made by 
selling lime, some in trading paints and in all conceivable 
ways. He ^oesn't know when nor how he'll get it but when 
it comes he knows he won't keep it." 

"A wonderful fellow, sure, what did you say his name 
was?" 

"Scott, Tom Scott, he was a wild Irishman during the 



MORE BALL. 



i*3 



war, a jack of all trades by profession and is now preaching 
in every church around here, when he can't get a preacher in 
his place." 

"I'm glad you told me about this, I'll carry it with me. 
I've heard of a good many men who gave the tithe and kept 
the rest but of very few who kept the tithe and gave the rest. 
Good bye." 




"I'VE HEARD OF VERY FEW WHO KEPT THE TITHE 
AND GAVE THE REST." 



Goat had about stopped trembling by the time the con- 
versation ended, and when Doctor kindly turned to ask him 
what was his errand, his tongue had limbered up. 



114 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

"Miss Shayus" (this was orphanage language for Mr. 
Jacobs), "the boys said for me to come and ask a favor of 
you." 

"Well, my son, what is it?" 

"They say they are sorry they nearly had a fight that 
time when Corny and Buzzard got mad and they promise 
that they aint goin' ter git mad no more." 

"That's good my boy, and what else?" 

"And they said wouldn't you let them play ball some 
more?" 

"Why certainly, don't you remember I told you that you 
could play as much as you pleased among yourselves." 

"Yes sir, but that ain't no fun." 

"Ain't no fun, eh! Well what would you call fun, my 
boy?" 

"Well, sir, if you'd jest let us try one more game with 
the town boys, we'd be mighty glad." 

"And what else would you be? 

"We'd be mighty good." 

"And what else?" 

"We wouldn't yell — much." 

"And anything e se?" 

"We'd study lots harder in school " 

"Good! and would you be any thing more?" 

"Yes sir, we'd be — we'd be sure to lick'em." 

There was silence for a full minute and Goat s;iw that 
the Doctor was thinking, and his heart rose as he noticed the 
amused smile upon his lace.. 

"Now Billy, (the Doctor didn't know the nicknames of 
the boys very well but had heard them call Goat by that name) 



MORE BALL. 115 

I am going to say yes." Billy's eyes popped out. "But on 
two conditions : — first, that there shall be no bad or boisterous 
behaviour on the ball ground, and second, that you do as you 
promised and lick'em." 

Goat didn't stop to say "thank you." As he went out the 
door he didn't stop to shut it. As he went down the steps he 
did not stop to pay his respects to more than one of them out 
of six. Susie, his sister who was coming in the door, got a 
box that made her face tingle for a week and made her so mad 
that she declared all day that he was crazy. The Doctor, 
however, received his thanks a few moments later, when a 
great shout went up from the ball ground, and every boy's 
face at the dinner table was as bright as the mid-day sun. 

It was not long afterwards that the secretary of the team 
received a note, much fingered and dirty, which read some- 
what as follows : 

Mr. Will Buzzard, 

Secretary of Clinton Town Base Ball Team, 
Sir : — We, the undersigned, respec'fully chal- 

linge you and your team to cross bats with us on the Orphan- 
age base ball diamond field on next Sadday evenin' at 3 p. m. 
Respectfully, 

Corny Jennings, Captain, 
Plug Ugly Murphy, Secretary. 
P. S. Bring your own bats and git a mask if you can, 
we ain't got none. 

And every boy in the orphanage read the reply. 
Misters C. Jennings and P. U. Murphy, 

Gentlemen : — We most respec'fully except your 

challinge to beat you next Sadday evenin' at 3 p. m. We 



u6 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

broke our mask but we're goin' to git it fixed and we'll bring 
our bats. 

Most Respectfully, 

Will Buzzard, Captain, 
Jitn Jones, Secretary, 
For many days afterward the boys were busy practicing 
and when the eventful afternoon came it found them prepared. 




ROCKS WERE GOOD ENOUGH FOR THE GIRLS. 

All the orphanage and very nearly all the town turned out. 
There was no grand stand. Boxes and rocks were good 
enough for the girls and who ever saw a boy that could sit 
down during a game anyhow? 



MORE BaLL. 



117 



It began. Now watch the expressions on the lads' faces, 
just the one in miniature of the soldier and surgeon and 
preacher. Did you see him hit at that ball. All his soul was 
in the lick, the same soul that will be in the big hit he will 
some day try to make at the oratorical contest or the bar of 
justice He missed and his little heart sank, in just the same 
way it will sink when he makes a poor speech or a poor crop. 

Laugh not at the boys 
and their fanciful world 
battles, learn of them 
rather, how to fire each 
effort with the whole 
soul. 

Oh, he's given it a 
lick and now he's run- 
ning for first base. 
' 'oh he has given it a i,ick, and now Would God we each 
he's runnin' for first base." considered the race we 

are running of as much importance as the flying lad. Would 
that we moved as quickly towards our goal as his flying feet. 
See he's making a dive for the base as the ball speeds qnickly 
to the baseman. Alas, too late ! he has failed. But never- 
mind. he will try again. 

Learn the le.son my gentle reader. No, no indeed, the um- 
pire has called him safe and how gladly he turns now toward 
i he next goal and eyes and calculates and then rushes for it. 
No pausing and loafing and napping on first. No reclining 
on the laurtlsof his first success, but he knows what many 
men have i;«>t yet learned, that nothing of all his work is of 
any value either to himself or comrades unless he wins th» 




n8 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

home at last. And so past second and third he presses and 
to his little heart the home-plate is literally the heaven-plate. 
Shall we not all, like the lad — forgetting those things that are 
behind press forward to the mark of the high calling in Christ 
Jesus? 

The game progressed and the last inning came. The 
town team was in the "holes." So far the tally stood seven- 
teen to eighteen in favor of the town. The Orphanage had 
the last inning. Then successively the town boys "fanned 
out." Dill was pitching and the curves he had just learned 
to throw came in most handy. The Orphanage team now 
came to the bat. Upon the next few moments depended the 
reputation of their prowess and the redemption of Goat's 
pledge "to lick." 

"Plug Ugly to the bat ; John Giz on deck, and Nat Har- 
ris crawlin out o' the water." Plug goes, but is too fat and 
fans. John Giz was on deck again ; but John couldn't con- 
trol himself well enough to do more than knock a foul and 
be caught. Giz had gotten his name fiom the fouls he 
knocked and his fondness for their gizzard's. Nat had 
crawled out of the water as many of his kind before him had 
done. He was the youngest and weakest on the team, and the 
boys groaned as they saw him go to the bat. Nat hadn't 
hit a ball that afternoon and he didn't hit one this time. But 
his very littleness saved him, for the pitcher failing time 
and again to throw anything high enough or low enough for 
him gave him his base. And now hope came back to the lads 
for Corny came to the bat, but what was their dismay when 
at the very first strike, he knocked a little fly right toward the 
pitcher. Everybody thought he was gone; but just as the 



120 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

pitcher put up his hand to catch it, the sun, which had been 
behind the clouds all the afternoon, suddenly shone out and 
right in his eyes, and the ball fell with a thud to the ground. 
The game was getting interesting now. If the boys could on- 
ly get Nat and Coiny in ! And now Dill comes. Dill is a 
tolerably good batter and there is some chance of victory. He 
takes the bat, smears his hands with dust and saliva as he, 
has seen the big boys do, and as they learned from the darkies, 
and, poising the bat in midair, awaits the ball. But poor 
Dill, as the ball whizzes past him and his bat misses it a foot, 
a cry of derision rises from the town side sympathizers. Ano- 
ther ball, afoul, a ball, another foul. Nat is on third, and 
Corny is ready to run for second. Then comes the lick — the 
lick that the boys never forgot. Dill never could hit a high 
ball and the pitcher knew it. As a consequence he had given 
him the only sort he couldn't hit. Now in a moment of inad- 
vertence he lowered his aim, and a second later the ball was 
flying into the right field, while a mighty huzza went up 
from the Orphanage boys. Nat was in ; Corny was envel- 
oped in a halo of dust at third ; Dill was making for second. 
Now Corny has leaped upon and is hugging the homeplate» 
which after all is only an old sawdust bag, and with a glo- 
rying shout has called, "score Jennings." There isn't a hat 
on a single Orphanage boy's head, and the boys are slapping 
and kicking and hugging Corny till he's beginning to get red 
Dill has gotten to third before the ball, but, seeing Corny's 
fate has decided to camp there. The game is over, for both 
sides are willing to stop. The next batter merely tosses his 
bat three times through the air, and allows himself to be touch- 
ed with the last ball and then — well, then the boys are happy. 



Lutz* 

1AM thinking of old Lutz this evening. Hastening home- 
ward we were passing through a meadow. Just a whiff 
from the violets, wafted by the evening zephyr and I was car- 
ried back, swiftly carried back many years. Lutz and I were 
sitting in just such a meadow, beside just such a magnificent 
oak as that one yonder and with just such flowers at our feet. 
Only the meadow then seemed greener and the oak more 
stately and the violets bluer. Perhaps, it was because the 
freshness of my life and the power of my body have lessened 
and because my own eyes have faded with the violets of youth. 

Lutz used to talk to me a great deal about his life, and 
told me things that I am sure none of the other boys ever 
heard, and I am sure, too, that he does not mind my telling 
them to you. 

He told me once of his father's death. It was this way. 
They were living in the country then and their house was just 
by the rail-road. He was a mere child but even then he re- 
membered how he used to love to watch the great iron giant 
rush hurriedly past the door, it seemed so dead in earnest, and 
he said in his baby boy-heart kt when I get to be a man I am 
going to be in earnest too." 

At first he was terrified by its noise and shrieks but after 
a while he would sit for hours on the track waiting for its 



124 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

coming, At last, one day he had been watching for it a long 

time there had been a cave-in on the track above and it 

was delayed. Growing tired he had begun to wander up the 
track and in the thoughtlessness of boyhood ventured out on 
a trestle. His father missing him, was coming to call the lit- 
tle child home. Just as the father sees the child, already far 
out on the long trestle, a great blast comes from the front an^ 
a moment later the express train with wide-open throttle, was 
rushing toward the trestle. All the brakes in the world could 
not stop the train in time to save the lad's life and the father 
saw it. Rushing rapidly down an embankment and out on 
the trestle, he called to Lutz to Come back but the boy did not 
seem to understand and stood terrified, rivetepl to the spot. A 
wild frantic rush — a quick, deft lifting of his boy to, one side 
— an awful crash, as bone and sinew and blood mingled to- 
gether in death. Lutz remembered no more. Only how a 
little later he watched them throw the dull red earth on an 
oaken box and heard, a kind faced man in black tell the many 
people who came to the funeral, that "as a father pitieth his 
children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him, for he know- 
eth our frame and he remembereth that we are dust, "and that 
he was the God of the fatherless. He remembered too, how it 
seemed the very next day, his mother would not let; the little 
sister, her only other child, play any more with him in the 
yard, (he never wanted to opproach the iron rails again) and 
how night after night the little lamp used to burn dimly in 
the room and every time he woke up he would see mother 
either cooljng the brow or giving the medicine or kneeling 
down by the bed. He thought she was just so tired that she 
was asleep then and talking to some one, for her lips were 



IAJTZ. 125 

moving only the great hot burning tears — how could she 
cry in her sleep? And then, one day some strange men came 
and took them away, mother and little sister, — and said some- 
thing about how sad it was, that she had given her life for 
her child and they wondered what the little orphan boy would 
do. And some one leaned over and whispered in his ear that 
a man named Jesus loved little boys and would take care of 
him. From that moment Lutz wanted to see Jesus. 

One of the men, too, said he would take him home and 
Lutz went — but only for a few days. He wanted to see fa- 
ther and mother and little Dot, but he knew they would nev- 
er come baok. Then he remembered what the stranger had 
told him, about another who would take care of him, yes he 
remembered the name, yesus, and one night when everybody 
was asleep he crept down stairs and gently opened the door 
and went out into the darkness. He took the only road he 
knew, the road to the old church and morning found him 
asleep between two new-made graves with a little fresh 
mound for a pillow. Something struck him, and as he opened 
his eyes a rude looking man asked him what he was doing down 
here with the sperits and who he wanted to see. "I want to 
see papa and mama and Dotsie, but they have left and I don't 
want to see nobody" — a thought flashes through his mind — 
"Mister do you know where Jesus is?" 

But the man only laughed and said "I ain't never seen 
him yet, I expect you'll find him over there in the city if he's 
anywhere around here, they keep all sorts of people over 
there," and with a peculiar grin on his face he pointed him 
to the road leading to C . 

Lutz started for the city. His little heart was not joyful, 



1*6 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

far from it, he was only wishing that he could find his good 
friend, and soon, for he was already hungry. 

He never told me very much about the year he was in 

C , I only know he Decame ;» news boy and boot-black 

and he said something once that I remember yet A big lot 
of stuff had come to the orphanage and the empty boxes were 
being placed away when a particularly large one caught his 
eye. "That looks like the one I was in that night," said 
Lutz. It was a long time before I could get him to tell me 
about it. 

One winter morning he said it was clear and cold. He 
had only gotten two jobs when a kind-looking man came a- 
long. "Shine Mister, shine," Lutz voice was always clear, 
and the man had glanced around, "No, I guess not — well yes 
I reckon I will." Just why he changed his mind Lutz didn't 
know. Perhaps, it was his rags or his little blue lips or his 
earnest supplicating plea — "shine, mister, please shine?" 

In a moment his foot was on the stand, Lutz grew warm 
at the work. The band of rivals left to find other dusty tra- 
vellers. 

"How do you like your business," the man said. 

"Jes tolerble tolerble" he had heard one of the larger 
boys say that once. 

"How long have you been at it, my boy?" 

" 'Bout a year sir." 

"Is your mother living?" 

"No sir." 

"Any brothers or sisters?" 

"No sir." 

"Have you any friends in the city?" 



LUTZ. 127 

**No sir, none 'cept some o' the boys and a man named 
Jesus, but I ain't never seen him yit, but when Ma died, a 
fellow told me He knew me and I asked another man and he 
.said if He uz anywhere He uz in here, but he hadn't never 
seen Him neither, he said." 

A tear was glistening in the stranger's eye, but the boy 
was looking down at his finished job and didn't see it. He 
wondered though, why the stranger gave him a dollar when 
he saw a nickel in the same hand. And he wondered still 
more when the man would not take the change. 

"I oughtn't ter take it Mister," he had said. 

"That's all right, my boy, where do you live?" 

"Hives 'long here, sir, 'n I sleeps back o' the drug store 
there, me and Sam. Sam's the fellow what sells the Journal. 
Mebbe vou seen him 'round here." 

"And what is your name?" 

"My name's Willie L sir, but the boys all calls me 

Lutz, and I'm much erbliged fer the dollar mister, mean' Sam 
? il #it us a pillow, sir." 

* -Don't thank me, my boy," he said, as he left "don't 
thank me, your friend Jesus sent it to you, he's a great friend 
of mine." 

A most remarkable case thought Dr. A , as he went 

on down the street. A heathen in C , well! A mighty 

bright looking boy' too. I wonder if — Oh, I know what I 
will do — if there is just room for him. 

That night a letter left C directed in a clear, bold 

hind, to the President of the Thorn well Orphanage, and two 
days after, an answer came. 

Not many nights later Lutz was just going to bed. His 



128 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

little head was on one end of a pillow, and Sam's claimed the 
other. Poor Sam, the cold and sleet and suffering were prov- 
ing too much for him. Lutz saw that he could not handle his 
papers much longer. As he watched him he was dreaming 
evidently of the day just ended. His little hand was out- 
stretched as though clutching the evening paper and the thin 
lips were moving as if to say "Journal Mister, ! Journal!" 
Poor old Sam, thought Lutz, I wonder if Mister Jesus cares 
anything for him. 

"Hello here' who's in there?'* 

"Gosh, its the cop and Sam's sick" Lutz said under his 
breath. 

"Is Willie L anywhere around here?" 

That can't be the cop, thought Lutz or if it is it is a new 
one. 

"Yes sir, here he is, what yer want with him?" And a 
little form came out of a great big box. 

"You don't remember me do you Willie!" 

"Yes sir, I do!" It was the stranger who knew Jesus! 

"Well, Willie your friend Jesus sent me to ask you if 
would like to come and live with him!" 

Lutz was too amazed to reply. 

"He wants you to come over to a little town called Clin- 
ton. He stays there about as much as he does anywhere and 
he'll give you a nice home and warm clothes and good food 
and send you to school and — " 

"Hurrah for him, I say!" Lutz was transported with 
delight. 

"And be has lots of other boys and girls that he loves ov- 
er there and you'll have a good time. Will you go?" 



LUTZ. 129 

"I guess I will! Only, — Sam's sick." 

"Who is Sam? Oh yes, I remember, the newsboy. I'll 
look after him and maybe he'll come over too." 

"A few days later a clean, neatly dressed little boy, with 
a" great big, long ticket was flying toward the little village 
where he fondly dreamed that at last he would get to see his 
friend — his only friend. 

I remember well when he came. All of us boys had 
heard that a new boy was coming and had gone out to meet 
him. We all had to shake hands, boys never want to do such 
an unnecessary thing but they made us and I shall never for- 
get what he said to us: "Well, fellows, he's my friend too 
an' I'm mighty glad to git over here to see him." I didn't 
understand it then, none of us did. A few hours afterward 
Lutz asked some of the boys if Jesus was here and some of 
them laughed. He never asked again. 

It was the day before Christmas eve when he came and 
the next morning as we all met for prayers in the chapel, 
Doctor gave us a good long talk. It was principally about the 
Great Provider and the hearts he had moved to remember his 
children. I was looking at Lutz when he closed with a sen- 
tence something like this: "And remember children, not I 
nor your friends but Jesus is going to fill your stockings to- 
night. I saw his eyes brighten and his whole face light up 
with joy — Jesus was coming ! 

That evening, long before the teachers gathered in the 
pantry to act Santa Claus, a lithe little form, a little tired 
from a long day's excitement stole softly in and hiding in one 
of the bins lay down to wait for the coming of his friends 

Night drew on apace. The lamps were lit, the Santies 



130 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

came, — great barrels of apples and boxes of oranges and rolls 
of bananas and buckets of candy swiftly were shifted and di- 
vided into many, many little stockings. At last it was all 
over. The lamps were put out, the stockings carried off and 
all left. No one noticed the little form hid away back in the 
shadows. No one saw the glistening eyes eagerly peering for 
a strange face No one knew the bitter sorrow of a little spi- 
rit as he vainly watched for the coming of his friend. No one. 
saw the tears rising from a bruised little heart and gathering 
in his disappointed eyes as the lad realized that for some rea- 
son or other his friend had not come. No one except he tor 
whom his anxious eyes were vainly peering — No one except 
Jesus. Slowly Lutz crept through one of the windows and 
went home, wondering and sad. 

Lutz was too small to attend the prayer-meetings, they 
were for the older boys. He had never heard of them before 
and had to be told what they were. In some way, he came to 
understand that the boys met with some one whom they 
would not tell by name — they were ashamed to. We boys 
could not for a long time understand that when Lutz came to 
the Orphanage he knew no more of God or religion than he 
did of iodobenzoyliodate of magnesium. 

One night the older fellows met for prayer in one of the 
rooms on the first floor. Just « r »s they had all knelt down and 
the leader had closed his eyes to pray, they all heard what 
sounded in the death-like stillness like a terrific clash. Glanc- 
ing up some of them saw for an instant a frightened face at a 
broken window-pane. Two of the boys went out and found 
its owner and a moment later he was standing in their midst. 

"What did you want Lutz, why didn't you come in and 



LUTZ. 131 

ask for whoever you were looking for? Who do you want to 
see?" 

"I wanted to see Jesus and I heard Lep talking to Him 
and looking up and while I was trying to look up and see him 
too, my hand went through the window pane." 

There wasn't a dry eye in the crowd when he said that 
and one of the boys, Lep I think it was, took him out on the 
piazza and told him why he couldn't see Jesus. 

"Now I know why I didn't see him that night," was all 
that Lutz said. 

We always had our general prayer-meeting on Thursday 
night. Well, one prayer-meeting evening, we all gathered 
as usual to the service. Lutz was tired and unused to such 
things and soon fell asleep as Doctor talked on. His mind 
was full of the past and as he slept the old scenes rose up be- 
fore him. Miss Pattie, the matron, was by his side. Rapid- 
ly the visions of the past came and went — his father's death, 
the city life, the search for Jesus. As he dreamed the ima- 
ges changed. Strange fancies came into his mind. The 
forms of his companions beside him became an innumerable 
company stretching far far away over hill and valley. The 
sound of the speaker's voice was the roar of many thunders, 
and his face — oh wonderful face — beautifully lit up by the 
message of living truth, whose could it be. He turns to Miss 
Pattie by his side "who is that," he asks. 

•'That — why don't you know who that is — that is Jesus." 
And then the mighty choir of legions of angels broke out in 
the anthem of praise, "All hail the power of Jesus name." 

He awoke with a start, all were singing the good old 
hymn. He tried to join the melody but the lump in his throat 



132 



NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 



forbade. Ever after, Lutz said whenever he heard a preacher 
telling the story of redeeming love, the old vision comes back 
to him and he says "That is Jesus.' 1 

Though Lutz was younger than Lep Carter they were 
great friends and when Lep was sick Lutz felt it as a brother. 
The n.igbt Lep died we boys had our regular prayer-meeting. 
Each of us boys offered a prayer and Lutz turn came last. As 
he started to pray we wondered whether he could finish. 
They had been such friends, always together. I shall not 
soon forget his prayer. He was only a child and his prayer 
was that of a child. 

"O Jesus, Lep is coming up to heaven to-night. He's 
: -^ too weak to open the gate. 

Please help him get in. He'll 
tell you about all your boys 
here in the orphanage." 

But I must not attempt 
to tell you too much about 
Lutz. It wasn't long before 
he was one of us in every 
way. He loved the base- 
ball from the very first one. 
There never was a jollier, 
better companion. No boy 
ever had a firmer friend. 
Time passed rapidly by and 
Lutz went to school with us. 
It took the boys about three 
weeks to see that he would 




HE LOVED 
FROM Til 



HE BASE-BALL 
VERY FIRST. 



LUTZ. 13$ 

lead his class. He was a faithful student and it was only a 
few years before, as a young man, he was matriculated in 
Clinton College. There he soon became famous as a debator 
in the Eukosmian Society. 

Best of >11, Lutz developed a talent for writing. I am 
going to submit one of his productions. On his initiation in- 
to College he wrote the following. Names being changed 
many can appreciate its application. 

RUMPUS RECOLLECTIONS. 



I remember, I remember the day that I was born 

Into tbe college family, hat off and breeches torn, 

One eye-ball popped plum out and lips a gettin' kinder white, 

Bob's dirty nose in my left hand, Simp's glass-eye in my right. 

'Remember papa Otts was there to see if I'd get through, 
And sister Green he grinned and yelled, he 'lowed 'at oughter do 
A rat some goo.:. Nex' day pap Otts, he wuz the one got threw, 
And sister Green, he screeched and begged 'at 'at much oughter do. 

'Remember when they finished up 'twas mighty hard to tell, 
Just what would be my poor sad end and if one could git well. 
My future and my past, both ends were feelin' kinder blue, 
It took six weeks to sit down fair and 'bout six more to chew. 

'Bou 1 : half remember how I crashed into a tree and sat 

At sixty- mile-a-minute rate, a steerage trip at that. 

Then Mama Lynn passed by and wailed between her joyous tears, 

That birthright steal in' stranger must feel sadly in arrears. 

'Remember dreamin' half the night as on my front I lay, 

How fast the voice of conscience was a dwindlin' away 

From College boys, a gittin' weak and hard to understand, 

Till just in time a deaf and dumb man came and trained their hand. 

Slowly the ^ears passed by — four of them, and then one 



LUTZ. 135 

day he left College — a graduate and one of the most loved of 
all' our boys. 

I pitied old Lutz though, when one day during the sum- 
mer, after commencement, he said, ' k Lonnie I'm miserable, 
old man." He needed no urging to tell me why. He had 
met his fate and that fate was found in a pretty pair of brown 
eyes and ruby lips and a low sweet voice combined with a 
fair form and a pure woman's soul. Only it all seemed the 
more awful because she was only a visitor, had already pass- 
ed southward and homeward and in all probabiltty they would 
never meet again. Then and there Lutz had resolved to ded- 
icate himself to noble ideals aud some day when he would be 
worthy of her when his own soul was pure and manly and 
his mind strong and full he would seek her again. This had 
all been several months ago. I understood the words that he 
let me read and knew that hi whole heart was in them : 

SHALL THEY BE MINE? 



Tones, witching tones, soft-whispered from soTie long, 

Long-past event, 
Rouse, thrill my heart, and vanish with the lips — 

The lips that sent. 
And answer not the cry nor heed the longing, 

Longing soul's lament. 
Tones, tender tones shall they be mine ? 

God only knows; 
Almighty God inhabiting eternity's repose. 

Low, gentle tones, I know not why I love 

To hear them still, 
Nor why they come unbidden in my dreams, 

When long my will, 



136 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

In conscious hours has summoned them in vain its craving 

Craving soul to fill. 
Tones, tender tones, shall they be mine ? 

God only knows; 
Almighty God who watches o'er life's drama to the close. 

Perhaps, God only knows, some day I'll hear again 

Those accents sweet, 
And on the lips, where coming forth they press 

their silvery feet, 
I'll print a kiss long-feigned and passion-wrapt 

Wnen — when we meet. 
Soft silvery tones, shall they be mine ? 

God only knows; 
Who watching each life-drama, draws the curtain at the close,, 

God only knows I say, perhaps, at some 

Strange love's behest, 
Those gentle tones and low shall speak to thrill 

Another breast, 
And leave my soul in weariness to l wait 

For love and rest. 
Low, witching tones shall tney be mine ?.;.,, 

God only knows; 
The Lord of Hosts who ruleth,- o'er life's battle to the close. . 

Only a few strokes of the pen and years are traversed. 
Was it a wonder that the lad who had devoted his life to find- 
ing Jesus should seek him in the Seminary in the preparation 
for his holy ministry. Thus three years are passed and thus 
have many more followed. 

Yesterday I heard Lutz preach. How strange it seemed 
to me as I sat there in his church. Old Lutz in the 
pulpit ! How his people would have started had I called him 
by that dear old nickname, I saw his congregation coming 






LUTZ. 



137 



in and wondered at the number, many hundreds. I heard the 
majestic notes of a magnificent organ and listened to each re- 
doubled echo from the full-throated pipes. I marvelled at the 
delicate touch of the organist " So full of feeling did it seem 
that my eyes were filled with tears long before I saw a manly 
form standing before a half thousand souls, ihe noblest paean 
of tbem all. And for a moment I was lost in the flower mea 




"THUS THREE YEARS ARE PASSED. 



dows of dear old Clinton and found myself tramping amid 
the- violets of her tiny river, thick as the autumnal leaves 
that strew the brooks of Vallam-r Ajld when lie rend as 

the morning text r "We would see Jesus," my heart said "It 
is enough, thine eye shall see the king in .his beauty." 



138 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

Last night we were talking in his study, of the old times 
and faces and his commencement. Just as we reached the 
episode of his poem a knock at the study door and a fair ma- 
tron's form entered, followed by the image of her whom he 
had met many years ago when he had received his first degree 
He had paid his vow. Manly and pure and strong he had 
sought and found and won. 

And there we all had a good old time talking about the 
college boys. Of how we used to assemble and when con- 
versation had failed to tell our joy, join in song after song. 
Such songs as the redeemed etc. 

Such songs as the redeemed of the Lord shall sing as they 
return to Zion, when everlasting joy shall be upon their 
heads and they shall obtain gladness and joy ; and sorrow and 
sighing shall flee away. 

There are few passages in all the Holy Writ more beauti- 
ful than that. As we read it our minds go back to those 
old college gatherings of long-separated friends. Mountain 
and valley flee past as our train glides smoothly along toward 
the college home. Now the landscape is becoming famil- 
iar. That cross-roads, for which the engineer just pulled the 
whistle lever, how many times our boyish feet have pattered 
over it, looking and longing for the locomotive. Yonder is 
the familiar well by the wayside. Come, you troop of memo- 
ries, getaway! don't ydu see the passengers have already 
descried something strange in my actions? They must not 
see the tears you bring. 

Ah, now, he has shut off steam. We are nearing are 

in the old town. The other boys have come already and 

all is happiness on the college campus, yes it must be, for do 



LUTZ. T39 

vou not hear the melody from the lawn. Those voices have 
Mot mingled for a long time now and their symphony tells of 
love and happiness and peace. Listen, you can catch the 
words : 

'•To our college home returning you can hear the brothers 

singing. 
Ov^ r hill and vale and intadow you can hear the music 

ringing. 
How the fellows would enjoy it ! they would sit all night 

and l'sien, 
As we sang in ihe evening by the moonlight." 
As you listen you think of a time when long separated 
brothers from New York and Texas and Oregon and Europe 
shall return to God who is their home and their songs of joy 
and everlasting symphonies shall mingle amid the anthems of 
the angels, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away. 

Did you ever attend a college commencement? Perhaps 
then you were there and heard the fellows singing before the 
Hall. You remember how they all gather there, a host of 
them, their numbers always increased by visitors and towns 
people. The winter snows have passed. The earth is green 
again. The birds have long since found out all this and now 
these tardy boys have learned it! The winter's work is done. 
There are no more examinations, no more wild, nervous 
strains. The papers have all been handed in and the diplo- 
mas signed. The work is over. The last failure has been 
buried in the last tears and the final victory proclaimed to 
the last exultant echo. 

And I am thinking now of how some day God's students 
will assemble before the central hall of Heaven. The senior 



14^ NEAlH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

class will be there too ; yonder they are, dressed in their 
white gowns and singing, "Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Al- 
mighty," the elders of God's church who have washed their 
robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. What 
a glorious commencement time inaugurating an eternity! The 
last examination has been passed. Tired eyes and nerves 
shall no longer be forced into a night-long watch for truth and 
light. The President of the universe has signed the last di- 
ploma and marked thereon "well done." And the scholars of 
God are standing by, wise graduates of the school of life and 
their proud heads are bowed in humble reverence, while the 
never-dying Chancellor of all writes their names in the book 
of life, in the company of those who would enter the halls of 
the University of the Eternal God. 

And I am thinking too of how old Lutz and I shall be 
there and how, when all the others have drunk their fill of the 
Master's love we shall go to meet him too and I can almost 
hear old Lutz as he tells the angel by our side, "Sir, I want 
to see Jesus," and I know what the reply will be: "Thine 
eye shall see the King in his beauty." 




And He Went Out And Wept Bitterly 

SCHOOL had just closed. The school rooms were almost 
deserted. All hands had been dismissed and almost all 
had gone. No wonder! for the autumn evening was the rest 
hour with the boys and with the girls too, except those who 
were preparing the supper. Almost all — for John Lavender 
had lingered and was leaning over his desk. Ralph wonder- 
ed why, for he had given excellent answers to each question 
and even in Algebra had not failed. John was always a good 
student and Ralph tried to be like John. 

The figure leaning on the desk seemed utterly uncon- 
scious of any other presence. Several times he had raised his 
head and written something on a sheet of paper just before 
him. Ralph wondered what it could be. 

Darkness came on apace and still he lingered. Ralph 
was growing tired but would not leave for he would have to 
pass by his friend and he had stayed too long not to arouse 
suspicion in doing so. At last he noticed the boy move. He 
slowly rises from his seat, pushes the sheet of paper, on which 
he had been writing, in the desk — rises «nd walks, a melan- 
choly looking figure, out of the room. 

But the paper had been imperfectly lodged in the desk 
and as Ralph follows his friend out the jar of his footstep 
dislodges it and it is wafted into the aisle, thus directly in his 
path. He bends, picks it up and is about to restore it to its 



144 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

place when he notices it is moist with can it be yes. 

moist with tears. Unable then to restrain himself he glances 
nastily to the writing and reads. 

THE EAGLE AND I. 



Strong monarch of the winds thou wast ! 
I used to watch thy glorious flight 
As, borne by each majestic sweep, 
Thou'dst vanish slowly from my sight. 
I wondered thou so far should'st roam 
From thy pure Empyrean home; 

Strange longings in my heart the re 'd be 

To soar beyond the vail with thee, 
And view the heavenly glow once more 
That came and then deserted me. 

Strong monarch of the winds thou wast '. 

Why to the earthly didst thou cling 

Until thine enemy had plunged 

His fang into thine heart ? For wing 

Of eagle e'en at last must rest 

When poison maddens in the breast. 

Strong bird, my heart doth pity thee, 

For nevermore thine eye shall see 
The heavenly glow ineffable that came and then deserted me. 

Strong monarch of the winds thou wast '. 
Thou sawest me note thy proud surprise 
When pouring poison to thy throat 
Talons and pinions he defies. 
I saw thee rise and die and fall, 
Heard thy last, lonely, frightened call. 

Poor bird, my heart doth pity thee 

For nevermore thine eyes shall see 
The glow of heaven ineffable that came and then deserted me 



AND HE WENT OUT AND WEPT BITTERLY. 145 

Great God! I tremble as I think 

How like the eagle's flight was mine. 

How nobly did I rise and press 

The billowy bosom of the wind! 

Great God! how sharp the serpents bite! 

How deep the wound! How dark the night! 

Awake, poor bird and pity me 

For nevermore mine eyes shall see 
The light of God, ineffable that came and then deserted me. 

The reader wondered and remembered — First, how John 
had promised himself and his Master but a few days before to 
ever be true and loyal and pure and how just before school he 
had fallen and in a heat of passion had cursed a play-mate. 
He remembered too, how another disciple, many years ago 
had done the same, only that time it was a living, present 
Master who was denied and how Jesus had turned and look- 
ed upon him and he too had gone out and wept bitterly. 






A Cornerstone Day 



MAY, the twenty-eighth, is the usual day for the laying of 
the cornerstones of the Orphanage. On occasion, 
however, the rule could be varied and it was not an unusual 
thing for some other day to be chosen. Such was the case 
with the Anita Home whose principal stone was laid on July 
the fourth. 

It was not the patriotism of the orphans however nor of 
their authorities that prompted the choosing of that day. 
Are we impious when we say it was for a better reason ? That 
was the birthday of the nation they say, a birthday which to 
even the young children of our home meant much, but when 
we think of the twenty or twenty-five young souls, whose 
bodies are being sheltered and whose spirits aire being purified 
within the dark blue granite of the Anita, it seems to us that 
for them the birthday of Miss Anita McCormick, now Mrs. 
Emmons Blaine was a fore-token of things of incomparable 
importance. 

It was in that way that July 4th was selected as the day 
upon which the Cornerstone was to be laid and every child in 
the Orphanage knew it meant a "big day." There were to 
be songs and speeches and prayers and it was whispered 
around that Vernon Parks was to make an address. The 



A CORNBR-STONE DAY. i 49 

great stone chosen forever to bear the heavy burden of the 
house upon its back and honoured by the inscription, had 
with many a shout and pull been riven from its native home, 
where it had lain in darkness since those awful fires under 
which it was created had slowly died away. Long years it 
had quietly rested there till on# day it had been rudely awak- 
ened from its stupor by the mighty blast of the dynamite fuse. 
Then for the first time it heard the sound of voices. When 
many years, many aeons before, it had last seen the light, it 
had been as bright as the glittering sun above. Life it had 
never known, unless some dread ichthyosaur had with mighty 
tread rushed over its back or some mammoth contended in 
bloody life-struggle by its side. But now a new life was to 
be opened up to it and passing strange it was. To rise from 
the dark unknown, unseen, unseeing, to the bright visions of 
day and to be the object of most interest of all the building, 
what a change ! The burden of the superstructure was noth- 
ing in comparison with such joy and besides, it had been car- 
rying just huch a load for the past million centuries. The 
new job was a scraight flush in a weary hand. 

There was always a large crowd at such celebrations and 
many were the friends of the orphans who came to joy with 
them that now other little brothers and sisters could come and 
receive Life and love. The Chapel was crowded when after 
the introductory anthem, the .President began to explain the 
nature of the service. When he sat down and a prayer had 
been offered, an invocation for the presence of the most high, 
all e^es turned upon the young speaker of the occasion, one of 
i lie young lads themselves and a new interest was added when 
his subject v\ a* announced as the ' 4 Founding of Thornwell." 



150 NEATH THE SHADOW Ot HIb WING. 

It was a bright young face that looked honestly at his audi- 
ence that day and a voice a little tremulous perhaps, but with 
the ring of sincerity in it. Every ear was willing to hear the 
words which came from the depths of his happy soul. 

"It is not an oration, friends" he said, "that I am to 
make. My heart is too full for that, rather, would I tell in 
simplest, plainest of story the history of the dealings of our 
Savior with us, his unworthy children. I am not ashamed to 
say that I love that Saviour, I am not ashamed of his works, 
nor his life, nor his great loving soul ; I am not ashamed that 
I have been reared here in this home which he has built, that 
I learned to think and hope and live here where he is. And 
so long as his and my Father gives me the words I shall glory 
in his praise. I only blush when I think how ashamed he 
must be of me. Pardon me friends, that so early in my story 
I have told you its author, but I am speaking of Him who 
could not be hid. 

Many years ago, when the ground upon which this build- 
ing is placed was the home of the wildcat, and the bodies of 
the fathers of this Country were falling everywhere from Get- 
tysburg to New Orleans, the little village on which we live 
was buried. Buried by those wiseacres who knew enough to 
say that it could never be larger than the eight bar-rooms and 
thirty families that made up its possessions. The church 
was dead too — the only real active member in it being the bar- 
keeper, who raised the tunes. It was considered by all as the 
worst hole in South Carolina and, had its citizens thought of it 
they might have easily won the distinction of , being called 
''Hell's Half-acre." When our President came here as pas- 
or, the congregation had never taken up a collection for any 



A CORNER-STONE DAY. 151 

cause, and a murdered man was found on the church lot a few 
days before his ordination. Those of the female part of the 
congregation who could boast a sun-bonnet regaled themsel- 
ves with it on each Sunday at service and on every bench- 
back a half dozen feet were perched while the correspond- 
ing noses kept a melodious accompaniment to the preacher's 
eloquence, when the harmony was not interfered with by 
the yelling babies and howling dogs. It took the church fif- 
teen years to drive out the bar-rooms, but it was done at last. 
There wasn't a member of the church present at the first pray- 
er-meeting, of the existence of which thing they had hitherto 
been in fearful ignorance, and when a little later the pastor 
called on his most active elder to pray he was met with the re- 
sponse, "That's what we hired you for, if you want any pray- 
in' do it yourself." No wonder that it took the church so 
long a time even to get a cemetery in which to bury such. 

And yet there soon came to be some of that little flock 
of whom the world was not worthy. Some who stood heart 
to heart and hand to hand with the pastor in his resolve to de- 
monstrate to the world that a little village Church could be 
made a tower of strength, a blessing to those within it and a 
lighthouse to those around it. And so, after they had finally 
induced the session to tolerate a collection and the aged saints 
to take their feet down from the pew-backs and quit snoring 
and after they had opened their cemetery and emptied the li- 
quor shops of their hellish contents and built a railroad into 
the town, they resolved to found an orphanage. 

How sweetly should our thoughts ascend in gratitude to 
the All-father when we think of the little gathering in whose 
hearts the loving Spirit of God first put such a thought. 



152 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

Sweet gratitude, I say. As * stand here a vision seems to 
float before my eyes. A mother, yours or mine perhaps, in 
labored breathing lies dying on an humble couch, we stand 
around her, you and I as she gives us her last message and we 
expect each word to be her last. We remember how our fa- 
ther has gone on before, the good, honest old man, but as poor 
as the land over which he toiled, and we watch the smiles on 
her face as she sees him waiting on the other side. But the 
smile is going now and instead an unutterable anguish seems to 
fill her heart as she thinks of her orphan children, of you and 
me whom she is leaving to shiver and suffer and die, and her 
last words are words of prayer for the children from whom 
God had taken her. And then I love to think of that other 
gathering, oh, how often I have heard our president tell of it, 
when in his parlor the time came to decide. And I love to 
think of how the Great Spirit was there and how he whisper- 
ed into each ear the Aye that meant that he had heard a dying 
mother's prayer and that they must be his instruments in car- 
ing for his fatherless ones. Lord, give us eyes to see the beau- 
ty of that scene ! and grant us too, a vision of the beauty of 
that God, 

And yet they were not rich, rather were they but little 
wealthier than those they would succour. And when the 
news went out that a little band in dark Clinton was to teach 
the great Church of God its duty to its own orphaned children 
of the Covenant, the wondered if they sarcastic name it had al- 
ready won was not fit, for many passed by wagging their 
heads and calling it "Jacobs' Folly. 

Did you ever hear of the first gift to the orphanage ? No. 
Then I must tell it to you for to me it is very sweet, — It was a 



A CORNER-STONE DAY. 153 

little orphan lad and they sat at a widow's fireside, he and 
his mother and the pastor. 

'And so Mr. Jacobs you ;>re going to really start an or- 
phanage are you. Do you know many of the people around 
here don't know what that is?" the woman spoke. 

The lad's attention was fixed now. He had heard many 
weeks before from his mother about the scheme and neither 
of them saw him as he left the fireside. 

u We are ready Mri\ A and when the Lord is he 

will let us know. " 

"Willie was back already. In Lis hand he clasped some- 
thing tightly, his happy little face was bright and blushing 
and before the pastor could refuse he had placed his tiny 
palms in his hands and left there a shining half-dollar. 

"What is this Willie, my lad and what does it all mean?" 

"Its for the orphans, sir, an' I wish it was lots bigger, I 
wish it was a whole dollar." 

"But my lid, we have no orphans and you must not give 
away. your all." 

"No sir, it aint mine, its theirs, me and Jesus give it to 
them." 

"You had better take ic Mr. Jacobs or he'll be mighty dis- 
appointed, he's been working for it for a month." 

He took it, for the Lord had let him know at last. 

So the Orphanage started and like David of old "kept go- 
ing and growing." 

And you must listen to another story I shall tell. Do not 
imagine that the road was odorous with the scent of roses. If 
there were any roses at all they were the few and the wild 
ones which only are accustomed to be found along the rough 



154 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HI> WING. 

mountain path the founders were climbing. Hard and steep 
it was, yet boasting in their Lord they dared to ^ok up to the 
crest towering almost infinitely above them and say, tk it 
is nothing." 

A whole long year passed before the necessary amount 
had been raised :o purchase a lot of one hundred and twenty- 
five acres of land. The price was fifteen hundred dollars. 
The amount had nearly been raised when one day the owner 
rode into town and offered the deeds for the money and said 
he could wait no longer. All efforts to change him proved 
unavailing and so the amount remaining to be raised had to be 
borrowed an^ a check for the balance given. What 
was their surprise when they found that he would not accept 
the check but insisted on the cash, nor would he yield to 
their declarations of ns validity or to the pleas of inconven- 
ience. Nothing would satisfy him but the cash and the cash 
immediately, and so the long trip to the savings bank at Lau- 
rens through mud and slush and mire was made. Even after 
this had been made it took all day to collect the money from 
the bank and put out by the loss of time and patience the pas- 
tor came back at the close of a hard, disappointing day. The 
bargain was closed and the titles changed hands. Almost the 
very next day the bank failed. Listen friend, while I tell you 
that there is a God in heaven and he cares f6r us. The Lord 
still sends by the hand of him whom he Will send. 

At last, it was only in 1874, a pair of oxen could be seen 
moving slowly up and down the big road with some ,olid 
granite blocks in an old rickety wagon. The first building 
had begun. True, there were no masons in the village or any 
where around who knew how to lay one stone upon another, 



A CORNER-STONE DAY. 155 

but the founders knew that one of the names of their God was 
Jehovah Jireh, and he did provide. Only twenty-eight day s 
ol the new year had passed when one day the little town saw 
a novel sight. Forty-eight immigrants, the first and the last 
batch to come entered the town. Strange enough, two stone- 
masons were among them. They came and did what they 
were sent to do, built the Orphanage and then passed on, one 
to some other clime and the other to Him who sent. 

There was no architect nor any dollar in the treasury 
when they began. One man, indeed, wagered ten dollars that 
the Orphanage would never be opened, the money not be 
returned in case such an unexpected thing should happen. It 
was taken and is now represented by the brain and brawn of 
some orphan lad. On the twenty-eighth day of May the cor- 
ner stone was laid and ever since we fellows have prayed and 
praised and then hunted the first ripe plums on that day. One 
of our earliest friends, who after the ceremonies gave five dol- 
lars, said of it later that he had done it to encourage them all 
not even hoping that the Orphanage would be built. The 
hand that received it, afterward wrote : "Oh God, bless these 
dear friends and remember it for their good, even though their 
faith was in men and not in Thee." 

Thus closed the first May-the-twenty-eighth — and during 
the next long year and nearly a half, while little pitiful voices 
were pleading to enter, the workmen kept up their songs and 
work by day and the angels theirs by night. And the event- 
ful day of opening approached. 

Let me not close before I tell you of one of the sweetest 
of Orphanage reminiscences. In those early days no matron 
could be found to care for !;hose for whom the good Lord had 



156 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

cared so much, One after another had refused, none was 
ready to say "send me." In deep darkness did the master seem 
to withhold his mercies from us, but only that with everlasting 
kindness he might return. The day of opening came, and stil 
none offered, saying that she was willing to cast in her lot 
with the orphans. It was then that our father-president's 
wife freely offered herself. It was fitting that it should be so, 
fitting that having given his own life he should add yet above all 
the only thing remaining on earth more precious, the life of 
our first mother-matron ; fitting too that her face like the 
the sweet benediction of her life, should ever remain in the old 
home where she died for us, and as eminently proper it is 
that on this day when we are summing up our whole past his- 
tory in one grateful service of thanksgiving to Him who wrote 
it for us, a son of her love and the only child ever born in the 
walls we so much love, should pay a tribute in verse to that 
life which was throughout but one sweet poem. I have heard 
them tell how in the fourth year of her service with speaking 
eyes she placed her frail hands in her God's and He remem- 
bered them to be the same that had held so long and tenderly 
the little fingers of His own fatherless ones. Let us remem- 
ber to-day and forever that she was the first mother God gave 
us to lead us to the one He had taken. 

My story is done. I would only in closing let you hear 
from another the account of that opening day, an account 
written by the hand of our President. 

"Shall I ever forget that first day of October, 1875? 
That day, the dream of five years and the toil of three, were 
to meet in a waking reality. 

There was another great gathering. From all about us 



A CORNER-STONE DAY. 157 

and from every house in Clinton, came donations to the or- 
phans. Little children brought chickens and eggs. One 
brought a coffee grinder, another a sieve. The older people 
brought barrels of flour, a great tub of lard, rolls of yellow 
butter, a hogshead of syrup, clothing and bed quilts. I see 
now the beaming face of dear "Aunt Sake" (she was Aunt 
Sake to all of us, — a very mother in Israel) as she busied her- 
herself in sorting the great pile of things and arranging them 
for the eye of a curious public. Blessed woman ! you have 
passed beyond the stars, and the heavens hold you, but earth 
still cherishes your precious memory. You were the Dorcas 
and Deborah of oiir Israel, and tears rained down, when the 
clods covered you. 

But from afar came gifts also. How cosy our bright lit. 
tie school-room looked, with its new furnitnre from the pious 
women of the old Second Church of Charleston. There was 
another Charleston Church (Glebe St.) that had fitted up a 
room for the first group of orphan girls. Laurens aim Cross 
Hill had done their part. Clinton hand filled the kitchen 
and larder. Aveleigh spread the dining-room table. It was 
our joy, too, to welcome Rev. Jas. H. Thornwell, on whom 
the mantle of his lather's heart rested. My own dear father 
was there to give his paternal blessing. 

The day and the labors of preparation prostrated me, and 
L could take no part in the public ceremonies. But when 
night fell, there was a little gathering about my sick bed. 
Nearest sat the precious wife, whose love and wise thought- 
fulness had made me what I was that was worthy ; my own 
little band of four gave way for the time, that a half timid 
circle of orphans might press about her. There was smiling 



158 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

Ella, with her round, bright face; Fannie and Mattie, our 
"elder sisters," sat next. Waiter stood behind. Alfred was 
already tall, a.nd his face showed the honor that was in him. 
There too, was Johnnie, as full of fun as the days were long ; 
Flora, bright, impulsive, earnest ; and Annie, the sweet little 
pet of the household, — these made up the happy group that 
formed that first night's opening audience. Lowry, the hope- 
ful, earnest young Christian, who presided over our School, 
he is a pastor now, and Miss Emma, whom the children loved 
from that very night, as teacher seldom is loved ; — these all 
knelt together, as I, prostrate in bed, bound them together 
with cords of faith. 

They have all gone out from the home nest, but there is 
not one of the little company that has not been true to God 
and duty. Married people are they. Two of that group are 
waiting for us in heaven. 

We began this work all so new, with heavy pressure on 
us of a debt of $2,000, which all our money receipts were 
pledged to satisfy ; the building itself was unfinished and in 
the woods. But the Lord had touched our hearts and made 
us willing to bear and to work. Every shoulder was put to 
the wheel. The little ones that were with us caught at once 
the spirit of the enterprise. They were to be color-bearers. 

One day, as I was sitting in my library, the little girls of 
the household came in, in a body. 

"Heigh!" said I, "What is the meaning of this commit- 
tee of the whole?" 

Mattie was spokesman, — "Mr. Jacobs, what does it cost 
to feed one of us a year?" 

"Well, my little one, I hardly know how to guage your 



A CORNER-STONE DAY. 159 

appetites, but I guess, all round, about sixty dollars." 

"And what do you have to pay the old Mauma that cooks 
for us?" 

'•There," said I, "you get me. Let me see, sixty dol- 
lars in money, sixty dollars in what she eats, and I really do 
not know how much in pickings and scrapings." 

She clapped her little hands in glee. "Mr. Jacobs, this 
is what we offer! Send off the cook, and take two more or- 
phans, and let us do the cooking!" 

Ah, how proudly that fair young face shone as she tried 
to stretch up her lithe young form an inch or two higher. 
Blessings on the child! 

That was the way it all came about that our girls took 
hold of their duties. The boys were not to be behind, and 
when January came, a "colored brother" had to seek another 
position. The children were divided into companies of twos 
and threes, each with a child-monitor in charge. What an 
easy time President and Matron were having. The children 
were running the machinery of the Institution. 

It was just before Christmas that the Lord sent Bro. 
Scott to us. Who is Bro. Scott? Not to know him argues 
yourself unknown. Well, Bro. Scott was everything. He 
had even tried to teach school. He was a painter. He was 
a trader. He had been born in London. He was wideawake 
all over. He loved the Orphanage with all his heart. He 
was very fond of reading history. He knew just how to col- 
lect money. He didn't care a straw for worldly pelf. H e 
didn't expect to get married. 

You say, that account is very much mixed up. So was 
Bro. Scott. And the Lord had use for him. 



*£o neath^tee shadow of, his wing. 

I remember when he came to me once and said, — '"You 
preached last night that the Lord would take any sort of a 
man?" "Yes." "That he would give salvation to any that 
wanted it?" "You are right." "That he only asks in re- 
turn an entire surrender?" "I did." "Then," he answered 
"give us your hand on that — I take him at his word!" A 
few days after he united with the Church, and he came back. 
"You said in your sermon last night that the Lord had use 
for everybody." "Yes." "Then here 1 am. Give me His 
marching orders." 

And so our dear, faithful, willing, energetic brother 
threw in his lot with us as general fac-totum, supercargo and 
steward and right hand man. 

That year passed quickly and busily by. New children 
came. Many friends bade us Godspeed. 

God's people had come to our help. $1,687.22 had been 
given to the support fund. A "friend in earnest," the same 
whose generous gift had given life to our enterprise, now ad- 
ded a Thousand Dollars to our endowment fund, while nearly 
if not fully, fifteen hundred dollars worth of provision and 
furniture and clothing had been sent in. It so happened that 
it was during that year that we needed so much of this latter 
class of gifts, for all our cash receipts were to go to meet our 
indebtedness to our contractors. Was it not wonderful that 
God who alone knew this, should have provided for the wants 
of our household in a way that he has never done since, and 
thus enabled us to sweep away the burden of debt. Shout it 
to the heavens , oh men, and sing it, ye seraphs, — God careth 
for us ! 



A Tribute. 



IN MANY respects the most important work at the Thorn - 
well Orphanage is that of the matrons. They are the ones 
who enter into the most intimate relations with the children. 
To them the young hearts open as naturally as the spring 
flowers to the sunshine, only unlike the flowers there are often 
disclosed dark little sorrows and hard and knotty problems 
to be overcome. Their daily battles, their victories, their de- 
feats, their hopes and plans are all so much material and so 
much work for the kind and loving matron. And that love 
the children always return. It was but natural therefore that 
after Vernon had taken his seat, the children were eager to 
hear the tribute to their first matron-mother, written by the 
only one of her children who had been born under the roof 
where they were living and where she had said her last fare- 
well. To many her form and face would have been those of a 
stranger, but her name known to all. 

The boy poet rose and read the following, only prefacing 
his words by saying that he had cast his verses in the form of 
a meditation on a picture which had recently been presented 
to him by his uncle. The children remembered that his mo- 
ther had died in his infancy. 



u 



NKNOWN, ideal, unseen mother, 

Whom I love though I have known not, 
Whom I worship unremembered, 



164 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

Sacred are the words they tell me of thy love and thy devotion, 
Sacred are the thoughts they bring me, of thee, sweetest of all mothers, 
Sacred too, shall be this picture, given by thine oldest brother 
To the )?oungest of thy children. Guarded by the watchful tiger, 
May it keep its vigils o'er me. Mingled with the black and orange, 
Woven by a sister's fingers, may its soul-transforming influence 
Change the hand that rests upon it, light the eyes that weep beholding, 
Purify the heart adoring, change them as they come to worship, 
Make them like their sainted mother, make them like her Holy Master. 

I have heard the sweet musician of the wildwood as he lingers 
'Neath the cool and shady bowers, I have heard his notes ecstatic 
At he rises slowly upward, and the wood birds, hushed in wonder, 
Listened with me to the music; heard and sought to Snd the singer, 
As his notes were growing softer, sweeter, purer, while he mounted 
To the starlit Empyrean, and the echoes soft returning 
Moved my heart in sweetest measure, lifted up my eyes to heaven; 
Till I saw the exultant singer slowly melting in the vision 
Of the deep blue far above me. 

So I listen to the music of my unknown, unseen mother, 

Music of a life-stream murmuring to its bed of love and duty; 

Notes of joy when in the sunshine danced the wavelets on its surface. 

Mingled voice of hope and courage when beneath the darkening shadows 

Gather now the troubled waters. Till the current, rich in power, 

Sweeps once more into the sunlight, gently soothes the bickering shallows 

Passes onward to the ocean of the everlasting future, 

There to join its peaceful waters to the turbulent storm billows, 

Till the sun dips down in splendor and allays its heated axles, 

And the earth's last evening glory marks the resurrection morning. 

Passing precious such life music, for it lifts the eyes far. uward, 

Till they view the singer resting in the bosom of the heavens, 

Melting in the hidden glory, resting on the Master's bosom. 

Deep in reverie at evening, gazing at the dark blue heavens, 

I have sat with eyes unconscious of the beauteous starlit meadows, 



A TRIBUTE. 165 

Heeding not the zephyr kisses nor their odors rich, fresh gathered, 
Won in deepest secret from the sweetest of the trembling lilies. 
Hearing not the merry voices from the honey-suckle bowers, [glory, 

Thought unconscious, heart deep dreaming, till the stars had veiled their 
Till the zephyrs passed offended and the voices died in silence, 
Till I woke and quickly summoned to my side the passed sensations, 
Heard their sweet, unheeded story, heard and saw and felt distinctly, 
Caught the accents of the voices, felt {:he gentle zephyr kisses, 
Saw the beauty of the flowers in the Master's heaven meadow, 
Heard and saw and felt the better for the silence and the stillness. 
For the darkness of the heavens. 

So these eyes that saw unconscious thee, the sweetest of all mothers; 

And the lips that felt the kisses dearer far than any others; 

And the ears that heard unheeding baby lullabys angelic; 

In the future shall awaken, shall not ever sleep in darkness. 

When the tumult of life's passions and the babel of its voices 

Shall have died away ior ever, and my soul is left in quiet; 

When my life has seen sufficient of life's evanescent drama 

And my heart is satiated with its never satisfying 

Gifts and never answered callings, blasted hopes and withered pleasures 

When the roar and din and clamour shall have passed away forever, — 

At the silent touch of death the scenes long dark shall re-enlighten. 

I shall see thee as thou bendedst o'er the cradle of my childhood, 

I shall feel the warm love kisses as I rest upon thy bosom, 

I shall hear the voice that lulled my baby-soul to sweetest slumber. 

Earthly form and earthly voice and earthly lips I shall remem'r 

Then to see thy face in glory and to be again united, 

Mother dear and I and Jesus. 



"Who Ever Caredst And Doth Care. 

WHEN the verses were ended, the President rose slowly. 
He had not intended saying anything at the service, 
but the lads had proved too much for him. Their words had 
awakened sweet recollections and he took up the thread of the 
story. 

"You have heard how your home was founded," he said, 
and so the innumerable mites began to flow in. Hook through 
the veil upon a picture. I see multitudes of pure, sweet 
hands of childhood ministering! They are piling up little 
pyramids of pennies, nickles and dimes. They are building 
up the "Children's Endowment Gift." Angels are hanging 
over it. It is as sweet incense before the altar of God. Their 
love is our endowment. 

I love full well to tell of the goodness of God to these 
children. But I love better still to tell you as we meet 
each day of what the Lord is doing for you. To care for an 
orphan's body is an easy mitter, indeed, a little roughness 
will drive htm to do that for himself . To cut and polish the 
bright gem of his mind till it shines with thousand-faced lus- 
tre, that is labor. But there is a secret still beyond this. It 
is to find the child's soul and to hold it up to the eternal Sun, 
till a light comes down into it that innumerable storm-clouds 
can only make to burn the brighter. 



i6S NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

God seems to say to me every day, "Teach my children 
my law!" It was for this that the Thorn well Orphanage was 
founded, and it must save the children. There has never 
passed a year since the opening that some of the orphans have 
not pressed into the Kingdom, yet there has never been a "re- 
vival" among them. It has been so easy for them to feel that 
they are God's own precious children. They attend the 
church and sunday-schools as equals with others. They min- 
gle freely in social intercourse with Clinton people. No badge 
is set upon them. They are not marked and labelled as 
"Orphans." They are not orphans — God is their father. 
Therefore, they must love Him and serve Him. If the thought- 
less grumble, the older silence them. "God is caring for 
us," they say, "we must do our part." Of the twenty-one 
children that began our third year with us, every single one 
became a member of the church- 

A dream. had come into our hearts that possibly some day 
God would open up a way to add a second cottage to our es- 
tablishment, in which a family could be set off for themselves. 
But we laid the matter before God and asked His guidance. 
By faith the walls of Jericho fell down, and by faith can these 
walls be built. Fajth Cottage shall it be called. "Ask and 
ye shall receive," our motto. 

So the Board said to me, "Go forward!" and I obeyed. 
The boys themselves were filled with enthusiasm for the 
scheme. The wagon was put to its best work to haul in rock 
for the building. 

Often we needed to go to God for strength. We had 
met with newspaper persecution. Friends had grown cold. 
Death had done its sad work in our household. But what is 



WHO EVER CAREDST AND DOTH CARE. 169 

faith worth if it cannot see in the dark? Lord, Thou didst 
mean to teach us that no stone should go into these buildings 
that Thou didst not place there. If this was to be God's work 
why should he not do it in His own way? His way might 
puzzle the workmen. Let them wait. They would thus best 
learn that it was Another working and not themselves. Were 
there no hindrances, there could be no faith. 

Inch by inch the work progressed. On the 28th of July 
our church filled out the 25th year of its organic life. The 
afternoon of that day was selected as a suitable occasion to 
put the corner-stone in place. It was exceeding unlike the 
former ceremony. Now, only the Church took part. She 
had given it birth. She now blessed it with her prayers. 
But around the President was gathered a happy group of four 
and twenty orphans, whose voices were lifted up to the blue 
skies in sweet thanksgiving. 

Brother Scott builded with his own hands and infused 
heartiness into the workmen. 

And now a marble slab with th^s inscription : 

FAITH COTTAGE, 
1880. 
"Ask and ye shall receive." 

Is seen by any one who ascends the steps into the portico of 
that building. Lest men should be silent the stone utters its 
testimony to the goodness of God. 

On the 21st of March, 1881, our hive swarmed, and the 
boys, with genial, kind-hearted Gus Holmes as their elder 
brother, moved in bag and baggage. The little printers 
shouldered their type cases, their galleys and shooting sticks. 



170 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

The great press was mounted on a wagon and escorted over 
in state. The president's office lodged in the "parlor" and 
the press in the "kitchen." 

On that day, when all the bills were in and the workmen 
dismissed, we found that all accounts footed up $1,500.38, and 
our receipts showed just $1,500.38 to meet them. 

We had gathered of God's manna in our vessels of Faith 
and lo! there was no lack, neither was there any over. 

I would carry you to walk in among the children and see 
them for a moment, as they were in thos-e days long since. 
Changes have already come. Little Annie is now a sweet, 
fair-faced young lady ; this is Mollie, — ah, Mollie, we little 
thought you and Gus would play us such a trick. Married, eh ? 
I do not think one could help loving Minnie, — "little" Min- 
nie we called her, (Minnie has her own little household now) 
Here too is our poetess ; and this one is to be our old maid ; 
and this one makes the little boys stand around (all old mar- 
ried people, for the years go by.) You want to see the boys? 
They are gone to Enoree to-day. Up long before day, even 
staid Sam is with them ; Darby and Will, and Tom and Ben 
and Allie and Ellerbe and the rest of them. Off for a royal 
fish and a plunge in the rushing waters. We can trust them, 
never fear, if they are orphans! Ah, boys you are all men, 
long since. 

"Swifter than a weaver's shuttle," so says the blessed 
Word, are our lives. We felt it to be so, when, just after the 
doors of Faith Cottage were opened and the lads came troop- 
ing in, there came a new cry to us, — "Our school-room is too 
strait for us. We be too many." 



172 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

We had cleared away the rubbish and moved aback the 
new building, the embracing fence. That night the Board 
met. I thought to burst a bomb-shell among them. ''Breth- 
ren," I said, "our school room is too small. Our classes 
tread upon each other. We need a school-house ; one worthy 
of the name of Thornwell, with hall and library, museum and 
class-rooms." The bomb-shell didn't burst. "We knew it" 
they said, "it is high time!" They had faith. If they 
could trust me, could not I trust God? I laid the matter 
down at Jesus' feet. I told Him what His orphans needed. 
And he too knew it before I did. "Then Master, lead and 
let me follow!" It was the building in which you are now 
sitting. 

Thus have our bread and buildings come from the unseen 
hand of the Almighty Father who has not forgotten us. The 
dear old Orphanage has grown in mail) ways — in buildings 
— in influence — in friends — in income — in the developement 
of church and college and newspaper surroundings, and in the 
breadth of the instruction that it gives. I, too, have grown ; 
older, the dark hair fast turning to white, and the lines deep- 
ening upon brow and cheek. We have built the McCormick 
and Memorial Hall and the little people were to breakfast and 
dine and sup, for many years to come. On the 27th of April 
1889, the last item of expenditure on this solid stone struc- 
ture, was paid, footing up $3,573.01. Just that much even to 
the one cent, we had received. And then, with a glad heart 
the book-keeper wrote down : "Hitherto hath the Lord help- 
ed us." 

On the day of its opening, as the eyes of the invisible 
Saviour looked about the hall, he whispered to our dear Mrs. 



174 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

McCormick : "There is room for more." And, on that very 
day, she wires these words from far off Chicago, to reach us 
on May 28th, 1889: "Chicago friends will contribute $3,000 
for another cottage!" 

That was the Harriet Home ! Sweet home of the sweet 
little darlings of the Orphanage. Right manfully we set to 
work again, with stone and mortar. 

Indeed, a new turn was now being given to the affairs of 
the Orphanage. Already its School had grown into a Semi- 
nary. Classes were being graduated with A. B. diplortias, 
and our dear girls were being fitted for the arduous work of 
teaching. Other pupils had followed our beloved Fulton! in- 
to the ministry. 

One of the interesting things of our experience in the care 
of these orphans, was to watch and make provision for their 
expanding minds. Our little Library, now increased to r}ear 
3000 books, was much needed and much used. But we had 
no right place to store the books. We wish we dared tell 
who built for us the Nellie Scott Library. Below stairs, jthe 
reading room is a cozy comfort for boys and girls, and 
books above. Because our dear friend is nameless, we have 
written his name the deeper in our hearts and prayers. And 
we give thanks to God in his behalf. 

It was aback in January, 1890. that a minister's widow 
sent the first dollar toward that which now plays so impor- 
tant a part in our work — the Technical School. All through 
that year and the next, by letters, gifts came in. Before the 
house was finished, more than $5,000 had been expended on 
it, and nigh three years passed. Sore discouraged, anxious 
for that last $1,000, I had gone to my room, and one day — 



'76 NEATH THE -HA DOW OF HIS WING. 

at mid-day — shut fast the, door, and told my Master of that 
great need, and that I knew not where to find it. Two days 
passed, and bearing date at that very hour, a letter came, and 
opening it — there was just the one-thousand needed! With a 
joyous heart, the house was finished and dedicated to Him, 
who so long worked, as these dear boys are doing, at the 
carpenter's bench. 

We had stopped, during the process of the work, to build 
the Augustine Home. A nameless ruling elder reared it to 
the memory of a dear child. Two thousand dollars finished 
it and for every year, $2,000 must be spent upon the lads to be 
sheltered in it. 

We needed and received but $10,199 in 1892, but after 
this new cottage was erected, we needed and in 1893, re- 
ceived $11,271.92 and in 1894, $11,787. 

While we were furnishing the "Tech," as the lads will 
call it, and it took full $3000 to do it, a noble lady, long a 
loved friend of our orphans passed up to glory. But she left 
$2000, to which God's people added $1000 more to put up 
The Fairchild Infirmary. Here, God's little ones are gather- 
ed into the arms of loving nurses. Here health comes back 
to their pale cheeks, and here, thrice already, Heaven has 
opened, and received from hence, a dear little girl, a young 
student for the gospel ministry, and a matron who had long 
served the Lord in caring for His orphan boys. 

Oh ! had I time, how I would like to tell the story of 
God's care over these and others. Three times, we were 
compelled to see our boys, just ready to enter upon the God- 
given work of soul saving, translated to the upper Kingdom ! 
How I would like to tell of one gentle girl, who, on a dalrk 



WHO EVER CAREDST AND DOTH CARE. 



77 



day, made all the earth brighter, by her vision of angels, with 
whom she* went into the inner glory. I would like, too, to 
tell and retell the story of the children's gifts — the Academy 
reared by Sunday School boys and girls — the noble gift of the 
Edith Home from the same kind friends who twice before 
had reared cottages for our orphans, and now twice again, in 
one year have they brought us together to praise their Lord 
and ours for the Virginia and Anita Homes. I would like to 
give a whole chapter to the living faith that through the 
Christiansburg Sabbath School has brought light and joy and 
happiness into our hearts. And there is Mrs. Lees, — (God 
bless her) — with her latest gifts of the Lees Home and the 
Lees Industrial School. Dear friend, may God spare her to 

long years of mercies. I 
would like to tell of the 
Mission Training Class and 
its girls far away in China, 
carrying the story of Jesus 
to perishing heathen ; of ou r 
growing town and growing 
Church with its new work 
and greater hopefulness. 
Why, the heart is just full 
of crowding recollections. 
mission training college. Hundreds of dear faces' 
once our boys and girls, now preachers, teachers, deacons, el- 
ders, noble men and women — these fill my waking vision. 
How I would like to tell a thousand things about them, and 
hear them say that the Lord cares for them now as ever. 




178 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

How I would'like to tell of otherj^Homes, encouraged into 
usefulness by ours and not least, of the Palmer Orphanage, 
child of this one. And better still, if I but dared to do it, I 
would like to tell how God answers prayer — how He hears 
poor, weak voices like ours, — -how He is so close, so near 
and so helpful. As I count back these twenty-five years, He 
has put into my hands full three hundred thousand dollars to 
serve Him with. This is not much, but it is something to have 
the Lord give you each dollar, because you asked Him. 





..&'■■;- " : %.:■;:.. . '■■ -^ 




ON THE STREET. 




AT THE GATE. 




AT THE SUMMER HOUSE. 



Lo, He Giveth His Beloved Sleep* 

JOHX Lavender told us this story of Orphanage days one 
night. John had been an orphanage boy, but had lately 
become such a literateur that we were almost afraid to claim 
him. He was moralizing that night, 1 never shall forget the 
tones of his voice. , 

God sends the good weather, he said, every body believes 
that, but I believe he sends the bad weather too. We always 
remember that he gives us our joys, for it is s»o easy to do that, 
but how about the sorrows? 

This day was a day of bad weather and sorrow and God 
sent them both. Yes, he must have done it for they 6uited 
one another so exactly. It was spring-time too, and every- 
thing ought to have been so green and bright and attractive. 
Yet, it was gloomy and cold and wintry. Disgruntled clouds 
were striking back and forth in the most spiteful manner at 
the east wind. 

We had been talking together, Mrs. Locke and I. She 
had been almost a mother to me, for many years ago, she and 
her daughter had come to the Orphanage. She already an el- 
derly lady and her daughter middle aged anH I a lad of nine. 
Like all lads of nine, untaught, unhonored aud unclean. In 
her daughter I bad found a friend. It wasn't long before the 
boys began to guy me about my clean hands and after I had 



182 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

combed my hair once or twice my reputation as a dead game 
sport was second to none. But I didn't mind that, although 
my girl did go back on me for not missing my lesson and get- 
ting to stay in with her. [It was lots of fun to k 'stayin" — 
the teacher most frequently had to leave and we had a good 
time talking. They say it isn't so much fun now, for the 
teacher wont leave and you can't talk.] 

Anyway Miss Mary soon won my affections and that 
meant all. For she taught me my spelling and my history and 
my reading and I didn't have to stay in a time. 

Years passed on. The lad became a man, then came col- 
lege and then university and then life. It was just between 
the two last, that she — God pity us all— she died. Us all, I 
say, for during the last years of her life her one student had 
grown to]a cottage-full and all loved her as the one had done, 
and she them. 

I had heard the news just before coming home and was 
thinking of the delightful hours by the cosy fireside of the 
matron's room in the Home of Peace, with chatter-box and 
stories and nuts and candies — was thinking of them and their 
giver and her mother and thanking God for them all when 
our train slowed down, preparatory to crossing a trestle. 
The regular movement of the coaches, the rhythmic click of the 
wheels and the hoarse answer of the trucks, combined with the 
river scene and I found my thoughts turning to verse for ex- 
pression. I put them into verse and memorized them thus : 

O'er .he brink of yonder river where the waving willows weep, 
As the shadows of the sunset o'er the darkening waters creep, 
Thick and fast the dead leaves fall as storming winds npon them sweep 
And each leaf is pointing backward, 



LO, HE GIVETH HIS BELOVED SLEEP. 183 

While each hidden bud points forward, 
And each bough looks ever upward, 
As the winds upon them sweep, 

And the God who turns their hour-glass knows where each dead leaf 
will sleep. 

O'er the brink of life's rough river where the weak and weary weep, 
As the shadows of life's sunset o'er the darkening waters creep, 
Deadened joys and blighted hopes fall fast before time's onward sweep. 
Swift each memory speeds backward, 
While each tear is pointing forward, 
And each heart looks ever upward, 
As life's tempest o'er them sweeps, 

And lo ! the God who turns their hour-glass gives each weary spirit 
sleep. 

"Ah! that is true of her," Mrs. Locke said to me one 
evening, "very true and very beautiful, but will he give me 
rest too. And shall it be befoie the eternal peace of the 
grave?" 

Doctor told me of her death. She had been so kind to 
the boys, — no wonder there were so many wet eye,s for there 
was not a top-cord that Miss Mary did not give or mend nor 
a kite she did not paste. He had gone, Doctor had and found 
her dead. She had been unwell for weeks and that night as 
he entered the room only her mother and the body of her 
daughter were there. No, there was another, it was Gyp. 
No one who ever saw him will forget Gyp. He had been 
lost from his master, dropped probably from a passing train 
and had found his way to the Orphanage and Miss Mary had 
taken him in and cared for him and loved him and Gyp had 
loved, too. 



1 84 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

How lonely a group it was that night — how unutterably- 
lonely it would have been had not God been there too. 

"But why," she asked me as we sat there together, "did 
God tike her? I wanted her so badly and loved her so much 
and the boys, the children — " she could say no more. 

Nor could I. Only in the dark and sorrow-stricken home 
as well as in the heart of joy, in fire and death and terror I 
felt that the firm foundation of God would stand, having that 
glorious seal, "The Lord knoweth them that are His." I 
thought too of how much tenderer and more sympathetic my 
friend's heart had been made already by the blow, how she 
had been taught deeply of the weakness of man and of the 
strength of God, how her eyes had been lifted upward to the 
city that fadeth not away, eternal in the heavens, where all 
tears would be wiped away and where there would be no more 
night — and of how her character had been struck one master 
blow by the Master workman, perhaps the last blow in chis- 
eling it out for the inspection of the Judge of men. 

"And the stroke was heavier." — Mrs. Locke was speak- 
ing to me, I had been lost in reverie, "because Doctor had 
prayed with me so hard for her and I could not believe she 
would die." 

"He asked of Thee life, and thou gavest him a long life 
even forever and ever." It was all I could say. It was 
enough. 

"But how weird life seems to me now, how dark and 
strange and hopeless." 

Again the words were not mine that I answered, "Not 



LO, HE GIVETH HIS BELOVED SLEEP. r8; 

day nor night, but it shall come to piss that at eventide there 
shall be light." 

I was looking down but a gentle touch on my arm bade 
me look up. What a glorious sight it was! No more sullen, 
rainy, melancholy gloom, but the windows of heaven were 
opened and a glorious pathway of gold and crimson and scar- 
let-tinged clouds seemed beckoning us toward the setting 
sun clothed now in brightness and beauty. 

I wrote a line or two about it and published them in our 
paper. At the head of it I placed my words : "not day nor 
night but it shall come to pass that at eventide there shall be 
light.'' It was one of the few contributions of my own that 
I have ever memorized. I am sure that I can repeat it for 
you yet : 

Slowly, as we sat, the shadows of a gloomy, wintry day 
Settled down in sullen silence, and the chilling, hopeless gray 
Of the heavy clouds o'ershadowing seemed to still all joy within 
Making moae intense our thoughts of human wretchedness and sin. 

Hope seemed dying in the shadows, sorrow drew its sable shroud, 
Around our hearth and melancholy seemed to fall from every cloud. 
Softly and subdued the wondering calls of wood-fowl cross the moor, 
Nature would within the darkness of despair the soul allure. 

Toward the sunset now it brightens, through the portals of the west 
Glorious streams of light are pouring, and the hopeless, leaden breast 
Of Heaven above to golden mounts of promise now transfigured seems 
And the towering cloud in glory with majestic splendor gleams. 

See ! the chilly fog is lifting, thro the mist that still enshrouds 
The distant East, the sunlight sifting paints a rainbow in the clouds. 



186 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

Listen to the thrilling joy that fills the wood-bird's bursting throats! 
Heavenly peace upon us resting! Heavenly music toward us floats. 



Soul, o'ershadowed now in sadness, toward the heavens lift thine eyes' 
Tho the clouds are dark and lowering, sunset glows shall fill thi se skies 
When the vespers toll the deathknell of thy bitter, cheerless day 
Will the "Sutt of Righteousness" in splendor pave thy future way. 

Spirit, buried in thy sorrow, far above yon hopeless gray 

God's blue Empyrean glitters and His bright, eternal day. 

Weird, indeed, life's hopeless struggle scarcely day and scarcely night, 

But at eventide he says, at eventide there shall be light! 



4* 4* 




Christmas* 



[WONDER whether there were any lit- 
tle child-angels among the beautiful 
choir that sang hosanas and benedictions 
u hen the Christ child was born? There must have been, do 
sou not think? For he was a child and then you know 
Christmas belongs to children, I guess it does, everywhere, I 
know it does at the Thorn well Orphanage. We used to 
think oF those anthems of the angelic hosts too — early in the 
morning, when all was so quiet-^oh Christmas morning when 
j js>t a few of us were up and had Come down stairs and were 
1 >oking up into the blue sky, for down here at the Orphanage 
we believe und the matrons and teachers and president — they 
know that God still cares for us and so we all sing every 
Christmas morning, "Glory to God in the highest and on 
earth peace, goodwill to men. 

Doctor, (that's the President) scared us pretty badly one 
t ay, long time ago. He said one morning at prayers that 
there was a doubt about when Christmas ought to come, that 
some of the D. D's. said Christ wasn't born when he was, 
But when we saw him smiling we knew Christmas was going 
to be on the day we'd been watching for a month. 

Christmas is always a big day at the Orphanage. You 



190 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

see we don't go to school then and for about ten days and 
sometimes two weeks we are getting our regular work up 
for it. Then it comes and the big bon-fire and the getting 
up to light it and the turkey-dinner that Jesus' friend in Elber- 
ton, Ga., sends, and the Christmas tree and all and the look- 
ing the rabbit -gums early in the morning, I mustn't forget, 
that. Oh, we have a whoppin time when Christmas comes. 

I wish I knew whether you wanted me to tell you what we I 
fellows do at Christmas times. You see I don't know whether: 
anybody's reading this and if anybody is I don't know who.i 
If its a boy I bet he'd say "yes, go on and tell us about it" 
and a girl w r ould too, — a little girl, the big girls, I don't know 
much about them. They don't care much for us little fellows 
and we used not to have many big boys at the Orphanage, so 
I can't tell about them. But then the fathers and mothers 
too — you see I don't know whether they want to know or not. 
Our mothers and fathers would wouldn't they? But they 
know don'v you suppose? For Jesus sees us and I just know 
he tells them about it. Well I'm going to try to tell anyway 
for if I loved boys well enough to clothe them and feed them 
and teach them like you all do us, I'd like to hear about their 
fun. 

We can always tell when Christmas is coming. Ah, you 
are thinking about the calendar, I didn't mean that. We 
can tell other ways. You can't guess how, and yet you all 
tell us ! Well, this is the way. When we see old Kit and 
Bally (Doctor says Kit is an asinine youth of twenty sum- 
mers and Bally an equine maiden of twenty-two) going up 
town hitched to the two-horse wagon and then see them come 
back and stop at the pantry and see Mr. Scott and the big 



CHRISTMAS. ' 19 r 

boys taking a whole lot of boxes and putting them down at 
the door and when we come running up to see what it is and 
whether Christmas has come and they won't tell us then we 
know. For that's Christmas you know with us. And if 
there's a box of firecrackers we know it isn't long. 

Then, I tell you what we fellows do — we go down to the 
canebrake and we cut a whole lot of canes and we bring all 
the brush and trash we can get and we pile them all together 
and get ready for the big bonfire. Doctor says it mustn't be 
near any of the houses, so we go way down back of the Mc- 
Cormick and we have a great big pile, and it burns too, you 
bet. 

But Christmas is the biggest time for another thing you 
ever saw. Girls are the beat'nest things yet. One of my 
pards had one once. He got mashed oh her one spring and 
they sported for a while but somebody cut him out in the sum- 
mer. Then the new fellow and the girl broke up and my 
pard got me to talk up for him. I was always willing for 
that. She was a pretty girl and I always did sorter hope 
she'd say someday, "talk up for yourself John," but she nev- 
er. Well, I worked hard for him and one day he wrote her 
a note. My pard always was a powerful poet and he wrote 
her a line of his own composition : 

"Roses sweet and violets blue, 
You sport me and I'll sport you." 

And I knew our scheme was done up when she re-versed him 

"Violets are blue and roses are sweet, 
I'd love you if >ou'd wash your feet." 

You see we boys went barefooted all summer. 



192 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

Well, he was as mad as a hornet, mader'n a hornet, mad- 
er'n ten thousand hornets when you throw hot water on them 
and he told me not to talk up for him any more. But just 
before Christmas one day I saw her smiling at him across the 
dining room and I knew what was up, you see my pard al- 
ways gave his girl a Christmas present and she knew it and it 
was time she was making her peace. That's the way they do 
a fellow. But its big fun watching the girls catch fellows 
just before Christmas — and the fellows out in town say that's 
the way they do them too. 

And so, by the time the big day comes around we fellows 
get us a box and put it by the pantry window so we can see 
through, and we watch the pile of boxes— the Christmas box- 
es grow. Even the little fellows can tell an apple barrel from 
a flour barrel, and of course all know a fire-cracker box with- 
out seeing it. And the pile keeps growing till Christmas 
eve and af .er that there ain't no more pile. But Christmas eve 
\s the big time. The bonfire is ready and everybody wanting 
to light it early Christmas morning, for the boy that does so 
that wakes up first and kindles her up, is the big boy and the 
king of Christmas. Then there's all tomorrow to look for- 
ward to, and Santa Claus always brought a whole lot of candy 
and apples and oranges and fire-crackers and we had a fine 
time eating them around the bonfire. 

But I must tell you about how I found out who Santa 
Claus was. You were like me weren't you, you thought 
there was a real Santa Claus — well I did once. But I'll tell 
you all about it. 

Every Christmas eve they used to make us fellows go to 
bed real early for they said Santa Claus wouldn't come if we 



CHRISTMAS. 193 

didn't and I used to believe them. Then I got to thinking. [ 
knew where Santa Claus kept his apples, etc., for I had seen 
them in the pantry and he would have to go there and get 
them and I knew I could see through the window and he 
would be too busy to see me and so one Christmas eve I thought 
I would watch him at work. So I got out of bed after the 
matron had gone all around the rooms and me and my pard 
climbed out on the shed and scooted down the banisters and 
slipped around to the pantry. We looked in — all was quiet 
and dark. No Santa Claus — we waited pretty near a half- 
hour, and no Santa Claus. We were getting afraid he had 
seen us and had gone home. That's what the matron had 
said he would do if he saw us, and so we started back for the 
McCormick. Just as we turned we saw a bright light in the 
kitchen. 

-What's that Jim?" 

''Its him pard, he's comin'." 

We crouched low in the dry grass and waited, but the 
light moved not. We grew tired and then slowly edged our 
way toward the kitchen window — ' 'Let's look at him and 
run," my pard had said. Well, we got up to the window 
and looked in, and my! what we did see! It beat anything 
I ever did see. There mas a long table and around on one 
side was a big row of Santa Clauses and Mizzes Santa Claus- 
es. And all a'ong on the table were oranges and fruits and 
candies and crackers and so forth and one Mrs. Santa Claus 
had her hand in the candy-bucket and when another Mrs. 
Santy would pass by on the opposite side of the table she 
would douse it down in the bag she was carrying. (You see 
we used bags instead of stockings.) And another Mrs. Santy 



i 9 4 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

would put in a banana and another Mrs. Santy would put in 
the fire-crackers. My law ! I did wish I was that Mrs. Santy 
and had big pockets like I used to have in my every day suit. 
Well sir, we just stood there and watched them — ■ 

'•My Jim, don't this beat 'em all, why I didn't know 
there were so many Mrs. Santies." 

'•And yonder is one of the girls, pard, see her with them 
bags." 

•'Where's old Santy g3ne, I haven't seen him since we 
first got up?" 

•'Yonder he is! well sir, if there aint^another of them — 
reckon he's his brother. " 
"Jim!" 
"What!" 
"Jim, old man!! Jim!!!" 

"What in the " 

I turned around to look at the boy, his face was the 
strangest sight I ever saw. Disappointment, surprise and 
consternation struggled to control his features, 

"Jim, if I ain't mightily mistaken, one of them Santies 
is Doctor and the other one's Mr. Scott!" 

If he had slapped me in the face or if a thunderbolt had 
slruck me I wouldn't have been more surprised. You could 
have knocked me down, with a feather, with a pin-feather! 
1 looked. They were moving this way, for we were at^one 
end of the long room and they at the other. My pard was 
right, there was Mr. Scott and there was Doctor. 

"Pard, let's go, I guess the Mizzes Santies are the ma- 
trons." 

We went back to the McCormick and to bed. For my 



CHRISTMAS. 



195 



part, I was much sadder and only a little wiser and I never 
did let my pard see how I cried that night. 

But since that day I have found out that I was not so 
badly mistaken after all. 

I used to believe in Santy, then I quit believing in Santy 
and now I believe in Santy again. You see its this way : I 
got to thinking about who sent all those good things if Santy 
didn't. Maybe he was busy that night and couldn't come, 
for somebody must have sent them — and then one day I asked 
Doctor. I wasn't wrong, for he said "Yes, Jamie you are 
right, Jesus is our Santa Claus." Then I knew how it was. 
Don't you know how? Why all of us here at the Orphanage 
know it now, just as easy. You see, we tell him every morn- 
ing at prayers, and he knows it anyhow and so he begins to 
get ready for it. He goes to a busy merchant who is walking 
down street two or three weeks before Christmas and its bad 
weather on purpose — and the man thinks how hard such 
weather is on little fellows and how cheerless their lives are 
then he gets to thinking about orphans and the orphanage and 
by that time he is in his store looking at the apples and the 
oranges and he says to the clerk "John send this barrel of ap- 
ples to the Thorn well Orphanage right away," and he thinks 
he did it and he did, but our Santa Claus did it too. 

And here's the way we get our fire-crackers. A noble 
young fellow is walking along the street some night. He has 
just bought his Christmas present for that beautiful image of 
brown eyes, curling hair and fair cheeks, all fed by a loving 
heart and inspired by a noble soul. He is using every ray of 
light from every shop-window as he passes in order to feast 
his eyes on it — a button or college-pin perhaps, or something 



u6 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WINS. 

else — whatever he thought would fittest represent his friend- 
ship and his worth. He is happy to-night and the memories 
came to him of boy-hood da^s,of good Chtistmas times and 
fun. Just then he sees some firecrackers. He will get some 
for — he buys and orders them sent somewhere and we know 
where, down at the orphanage. And so the kind spirit of 

>d ministering all over our land sends Christmas to His fa- 
Ln rless ones. Each comes a double token of love, from Santa 
Claus himself and from the kind hearts where he has awak- 
i . ed sympathetic feelings for His little children. The old 
pastor and the young bride in his congregation, the devout el- 
der and the laughing and happy pair ol sweet- hearts just be- 
ll nd him, the tender-hearted mother and her little darling, aU 
m.ngle their love gifts together in Sunday School or Church 
or mail box. 

Some tell their names, sjine do not but our Santa Claus 
knows them all, so I guess I wasn't so far wrong after all 
a ) 'lit believing in Santa Claus. And you don't know how 
glad I am every Christmas about it. For if there wasn't any 
Santa, there wouldn't be any Christmas and if there wasn't 
any Jesus there wouldn't be any Santy and Christmas would 
not be any fun anyhow without him. 

But its great fun lighting the bonfire. We boys haven't 
any alarm clocks and so we just huve to pay attention to wak- 
ing up, and the fellow that wakes up first and lights her up, 
he's bose all day. He tells and retells all about how he did it. 
And of coarse we want to know but we don't want to have 
to keep knowing it all day. Of course we don't wake up 
nil after the stockings have all come back from the kitchen, 

1 in the first man after that ! ! I remember how me and my 



CHRISTMAS. 197 

pard worked it once. We determined to be the first and the 
only way to do it was to stay awake. Lots of fellows used 
to try it but it* a heap harder than you'd think. It isn't like 
setting up for you're lying down, the matron makes you do 
that and you have to lie down forfour or five hours and you're 
tired anyhow and you're ->ure to go to sleep. But me and 
my pard fixed up a trick th it worked fine. You know when 
the stockings are brought over they bring them right up to 
your room and they always come in one of the front doors or 
they used to any way. Well, we got us a couple of strings 
and we fixed them to the door knobs of the doors, one to each 
door knob and then I took one of the strings and run it up out- 
side the house to my window and my pard took the other and 
then when the doors had been shut and everybody was in bed 
we drew them in tight and tied them to our toes, me and my 
pard did, ;ind then we went to sleep the sleep of the just. 
About ten o'clock I dreamt that I was cutting wood and Plug 
Ugiy had the axe I wanted and that he wanted too. Then 
Plug got mad and before 1 knew what, he was up to he had 
come down on my toe, like a thousand of brick, — kerblam — 
and the toe was mashed as flat as a pan-cake. My pard said 
he dreamt something of the same sort. Then 7ve both woke 
up and we stayed awake. We heard them bring up the 
stockings and then go down again. Then I got up and start- 
ed down stairs. Met my pard at the back door and we crept 
out toward the bon-fire — 

"Got a match Jim?" he said. 

Of course I had several. 

"Come round this side, here's a rock, let's get her started 
and then yell." 



198 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

He took my match and the rock, and was just bending ov- 
er to light her up when he heard a match scratch on the oth- 
er side of the pile, a moment later the flames rose and the bon- 
fire was lit. We bad missed it by a quarter cf a second, we 
might as well have missed it by a quarter of a millenium for 
all the glory we got of it. We found out later that old Will 
Crawf had taken him a blanket and slept out there and our 
voices had waked him up. Next time we wont say anything. 

But we do have such big times around the bonfire ! You 
see there ain't nobody there but us, us and our stockings and 
the great blazing fire. And we tell stories and crack jokes 
and nuts and fire-crackers, swallow apples and oranges and 
smoke and stories and just have the biggest time. Then we 
throw on more wood and more canes, don't they pop though? 
And eat more Christmas. Oh, I tell you its jolly. And they 
say that a long time after the old boys never forget it. I re- 
member one time, long time ago, Doctor's son came home one 
Christmas. He had been away off somewhere studying, and 
he was a grown man too and studying yet. I don't see what 
he done it for. Well, early Christmas morning we were sit- 
ting round the bonfire and laughing and yelling and eating, 
when we saw a big man coming across the yard. We thought 
it sure was Doctor, and we stopped yelling and some of the 
boys broke for the McCormick. But it wasn't him it was 
his son. He said he woke up when he heard the firecrackers 
and our songs and noise and couldn't stand to lay in bed and 
so he came over to be a boy again. I dont blame you all for 
wanting to be boys again. I have the best time of anybody 
I hope I wont ever grow any. And say ! if they let you be a 



200 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

boy again get them to let you be an orphanage boy, and we'll 
have the biggest time! 

Then too, after the bon-fire had burned pretty near down 
we always go and look the gums. We have lots of rabbits 
and fine woods and we set lots of gums. So off we go before 
sun-up to look the gums. My, wasn't it fine! Of course we 
had a little company together. We didn't dare go by our- 
selves and we whistled and sung and yelled and occasionally 
shot a firecracker, we were so afraid the spooks and beasts 
wouldn't know that we were not afraid of them. And most 
always we caught a rabbit. It was mighty fine to catch a 
rabbit Christmas morning, you could pet him all day and then 
sell him easy. 

Then all day long we had lots of fun — What did we do? 
Why nothing! whoever had any fun doing anything — par- 
ticular. We'd chat and shout and eat and pop firecrackers and 
go after the Christmas tree. 

Now that was real sho nuff fun, going after the Christ- 
mas tree. The big boys always used to go, I remember when 
I first got big enough to go and I wouldn't have gone then if 
Fred hadn't got sick and I took his place. You see I found 
out Fred wasn't going and didn't tell anybody until they 
were ready to go and then they had to take me for everybody 
else was in the woods or doing something else. So they took 
two of us little fellows, me and Charlie Laxton — Charlie was 
a city boy, but he knew all about Christmas. Charlie was 
pretty green in some things, particularly on trees — he couldn't 
tell the difference between an oak and a hickory, so we had 
lots of fun out of him that day. He'd try to get it right and 
couldn't. He'd call a persimmon a black-jack in spite of 



CHRISTMAS, 



201 



everything. Well, he came across a beautiful holly and here 
come Charlie running to the crowd, yelling "I've found one I 
know, I can tell you w;hat that is." "Well, what is it Charlie 
"That's a Christmas tree!" he said as confidently as a king. 
Of course we told him we used cedar oftener than holly for 
our Christmas tree. 

I tell you what I like to do- I like to be on the wagon 
when w T e bring the Christmas tree back from the woods. I 
like to sit up and look big and have the other fellows ask 
where we got it and like that, and the girls always come out 
to look at it and before we got inside the gate good they'd 
have picked out the twigs for their presents. Of course they 
never were put t here ! I don't know what was the matter 
with them— Boys wouldn't do that way. We used to have 
just one big Christmas tree at the Orphanage, now they have 
just lots of little ones. 

And talkirg afccot fun, that was the biggest fun we fel 
lows ever had. They wouldn't let us in till dark and we'd 
stand by the door like folks do in a big railway station at the 
gate to get in. I stood two hours once that way, and wasn't 
it glorious to get in! . Just think of it, a great big tree, all 
lighted up with all sorts of pretly candles, different colors ioo 
a nd the glittering presents, and the jolly faces and good old 
jolly Doctor and Mr. Scott (All the orphanages agoing wish 
they had Mr. Scott.) The memory of those scenes are too 
bright and sweet to soon fade. And do you know every time 
I smell cedar it reminds me of Christmas yet and I never see 
a little colored candlejJhat my heart don't go back to the good 
old days. But before we touched a thing on that glorious 
tree, all-glittering and waving before our eyes, burdened down 



202 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

with happiness and sweetness, we used to bow our heads and 
thank Santa Claus. You know who I mean, don't you? And 
we'd tell him how good he was and how glad we were and 
then we'd just have the best time and w'd always think of 
the good, kind folks that sent them to us, you bet we would. 
Arid what fun it was to help hand around the Christmas gifts 
it was almost equal to getting them yourself. 

I don't know but what that's about the happiest ['11 ever 
be, except when I get in to see Santa Claus" s great big Christ- 
mas tree up in his home, and wouldn't it be fun if he'd let me 
hand round some of the Christmas gifts he's going to give to 
Doctor and Mr. Scott and my partners and the good folks that 
sent so many lovely things to us at the orphanage. 

But when I think of Christmas trees I always think of 
my pard's. He got sick just before Christmas, mighty sick. 
Me and him talked about it when he was in bed' and he did 
hate to miss it I tell you ! Anybody would a hated to miss it 
wouldn't they? I used to go up and see him every day and 
me and him would talk about it and he'd tell me how he just 
knew he'd miss all the fun and we had planned to light the 
bonfire and get there first this time and he couldn't get to see 
the Christmas tree either, that wis the worse of all But I 
tried to cheer him up and tell him he might be alright yet by 
then. And I used to read to him too. Well, one day I was 
reading, I remember it just as well, it was somewhere in John 
"Truly I say unto you, whatsoever ye shall ask in my name, 
He will give it you." Right there he stopped me, '-Jamie" 
said he, ' l Jamie, do you reckon that means us?" I told him 
jt must mean us for Doctor had said so once at prayers. "Then 
Jamie let's ask him to let me see the Christmas tree." And 



CHRISTMAS. 203 

we did. He asked and then I asked and when I rose up from 
his bed I just felt sure somehow that my pard would get to 
see the tree. 

But as the days went by he got worse. I tell you I was 
surprised. And we had kept asking Jesus to let him see the 
tree too. I wouldn't a-believed he would a-done us that way 
and at last, day before Christmas when I saw my pard was 
too weak to get up I just didn't have the heart to go to see it 
myself and I didn't try the bonfire and I came down and read 
to him and we talked to him. He had been so sure he was 
going to get to see it that it seemed just awful and he was 
weaker, lots weaker. 

I didn't go to the tree — I didn't feel like it. But some- 
how when I heard the bell ring and knew they were all going 
in I couldn't keep him from knowing there was a lump in my 
throat. I just could read the psalm. But when I got to the 
tenth verse, "They that know tny name will put their trust 
in Thee ; for Thou, Lord hast not forsaken them that trust in 
Thee." I had to quit and sit and wonder what He had done 
it for and why my pard and me hadn't got to go with the 
balance of the fellows. And he was thinking so too. Just 
then we heard a knock on the door and then the door opened 
and guess what came in ! My pard saw it first and I heard 
him say "There she is Jamie, I knowed I'd see it!" and then 
I saw it too. Just the finest tree! Just like the big one and 
lots prettier, the candles and all and the presents, the nicest 
presents you ever saw. And there was old Doctor and Mr. 
Scott, looking as kind and happy as they did the night we 
took them for Santies. I looked around at my pard again 
and he was crying like — like — well, like I was. But they 



2o4 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

didn't know what we were thinking about and we never did 
tell them. But we came mighty near going back on Jesus 
that time. We are not going to do it again. 

And I remember when I left my pard that night, he said 
"Jamie, old boy — We'll trust in the Lord forever — for in the 
Lord Jehovah is everlasting strength." 




ON THE PORTICO. 

























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Some Old Friends. 

I HAVE been happy twice in my life, supremely happy. 
Happy as he only can be who in life's green spring has not 
been told of the falling of the autumn leaves, of the sharp- 
ness of the winter frosts. Once was on that day when I 
stood before the dear pulpit in my home church and told my 
Master, in company with many others , that [ would follow 
him alway. Not soon shall I forget that scene : — the long 
row of boys and girls, myself almost in the center, the great 
congregation around, some looking on through their curios. 
ity, some through smiles, some through tears, the swee'. 
strains in which we all joined : 

,- Oh happy day that fixed my choice 
On thee my Saviour and mv God !" 

the glistening baptismal bowl with its limpid waters of life 
trembling in the hand of him who had given me all that I was 
and told me of all that I was going to be ; All these things 
and the consciousness of the presence, the sweet presence, 
the holy presence of him whom on that day I called my 

Lord 1 shall never forget them! Nor should I. Rather 

may their sacred memory ever attend to cheer and bless and 
their hallowing influences prevail to keep my eyes from tears, 
my feet from falling and my soul from death. 

Do not think then, gentle re.idcr that I am unmindful of 



zo8 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. • 

the holy joy of such moments nor criticise my seeming levity 
when I confess to you that the other supreme moment of my 
joys was when the lad whom I admired most of all my com- 
rades told me that the Base Ball Nine had chosen me a mem- 
ber of their company. The disparity in importance of such 
thoughts, I know, is great, and he little understands the 
heart of a boy who does not appreciate the blessedness of such 
hours as this last. To be chosen from a number, all of them 
just as eager for the honor, to be a comrade of the older lads, 
to be permitted to practice with the "league ball," to enter 
into the fellowship of the leaders of our little world, that was 
the sumum bonum of boy-life, only surpassed by that moment 
when the Lord of human destinies chose him to enter into the 
fellowship of the noble of the earth and become an armour 
bearer to the King. 

My mind went back to those good old days when a few 
days ago I read the following from one of the Wilmington 
(Del.) papers : 

"The Rev. F. Corn well Jennings, the brilliant young 
pastor of Hanover Presbyterian Church, this city, has receiv- 
ed a call to the pastorate of Wakefield Presbyterian church, 
in Germantown, made vacant by the death of the Rev. T. G 
F. Hill. It is said the salary is $2,400 a year. 

Mr. Jennings is in hi» second year at Hanover, and is one 
of the most popular pastors the old church ever had. He is a 
deep thinker and an eloquent speaker. Since his pastorate 
the average attendance has increased to 300 and the collec- 
tions are larger than they have been for years." 

For Corny was the lad who told me as we sat in the isUn- 
shine on the rocks that = J 




REV. F. CORNWELL JENNINGS. 
(Once Catcher on the "Big Team.") 



2io NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WIN3. 

The right f iel ' uz mine 
On thet big boys' nine 
Fiel' 'em up, fiel' 'em up, fiel' 'em up fine 
Fiel' 'em to the first in er bee-line. 

He told me too many days later, as we stood together 
one evening in the beams of the great ai§6 light of heaven of 
of how he had determined to devote his life to catching men 
for the captain of the teams of God. I knew then what I 
know now, th it the man who as a lad would catch a Spald- 
ing league ball for nine innings without mask or gloves, till 
his fingers were stiffened and his hands blue and never wince 
never muff, [ say that I knew such an one as he would be 
chosen of God to arrest the hardest of men in the simplest of 
their falls and stay them in their rapid flight to destruction. 

And yet it does seem a little strange to read the follow- 
ing in the Philadelphia Press. Time passes so rapidly. 

' v The installation of the Rev. F. Corn well Jennings, who 
has accepted a call to the pastorate of the Wakefield Presby- 
terian Church, to succeed the late Rev. Thomas G. F. Hiil, 
will take place to. night in the church at Germantown avenue 
and Fishers lane. Special services have been arranged, and 
sever. tl well-known divines will address the congregation. 

The Rev. Mr. Jennings was born in South Carolina, and 
is the son of a prominent physician of that State. He grad- 
uated from the Presbyterian College of South Carolina in 
1893, and from Princeton Theological Seminary in 1896. 
During 1895 he was regularly licensed to preach by the Pres- 
bytery of Enoree, S. C, and in May, 1896, was ordained and 
installed pastor of Morrisville Church. Since October 
1898, Mr. Jennings hits been pastor of Honover church, Wil- 
mington, where he has served as one of its most efficient and 
popular pastors." 



SOME OLD FRIENDS. 211 

Plug Ugly (nicknamed Herbert Murphy) was our center 
fielder. The most famous thing Plug ever did was to almost 
ruin the high opinion a family in Clinton held for "Doctor." 
There were several Smith families in Clinton, distinguished 
as Young Miss Smith, Old Miss Smith and Mrs. Johnnie 
Smith. Mow Old Miss Smith, a lady of thirty-five summers 
and the Lord only knows how many winters, got sick, and 
Doctor w-as much concerned about his firm and true friend. 
Just after dinner one day he called Plug and said "Herbert, 
go down and enquire how Old Miss Smith is." Plug 

went, arrived, knocked on the door, Miss Smith herself 

comes to the door. 

"Evenin' " said Plug. 

"Good evening, my little man what can I do for you?" 

"Please ma'am, Mr. Jacobs said for me to ask bow old 
is Miss Smith." 

That was Plug's last message. I wonder whether he 
ever thinks about that day as he works in the Shops of At- 
lanta. ' 



Simp and Jim were our "pig-tails." Jim first till he 
quit in deep disgust and went to setting type. In fact he has 
set more and more in his way (which is the very best of ways) 
until he has himself become a type of true and noble man- 
hood for good and bad cases He is at the head of the Print, 
ing Department of the Orphanage now, and there never was 
one more beloved or one who knew his business better. 

Simp pigtailed a while, then went into the field and then 
to the pitcher's box. Last year he made the team of the 
Presbyterian College of South Carolina the terror it was to 




"JIM AND SIMP. 



all weak opponents. Next year he goes to Columbia, or Un- 
ion, or Princeton as he determines to follow Dent or Sam or 
Corny. 



Crawf was our second ba.-eman. We put him there be- 
cause he could stand the jars and jolts of the runners better 
than most boys. Well-trained was he when he finished to 
stand the jars and jolts of the world. 



GiZ, was so tender hearted, so considerate of other peo- 
ples feelings that all he did was to hold down third. It was 
so against his principles to put an) body out! I remember 
however, he put out for home when Mr. Young's sarcastic 
Fido got after him in the wrong watermelon patch. 



SOME OLD FRIENDS. 213 

GOat King our Pitcher and Short-stop was famous among 
the boys for his fine marksmanship. It happened this w a 
He went hunting once by permission and after shooting some 
forty or fifty times at the partridges, and missing even their 
neighborhood, became desperate. A covey has been scattered, 
the dog is finding them again, one by one. He stands, 
points. Goat creeps forward and to his delight, sees not much 
over a dozen feet from him, a partridge squatting. He is de- 
termined to do deadly work at last, cocks both triggers, aims 
slowly, accurately, pulls both triggers, and pours two loads of 
>hot into the bird, and then rushes to the spot. 

"Git 'im Goat?" calls his companion. 

Goat is searching all round expecting to pick up his bird. 

"Yes I got 'im, I mean I think I got 'im but I guess I 
must-er not fer ther aint nothing here but some feathers, some 
old bones, and er hole in ther ground." 



Everybody that ever played ball at the Orphanage knew 
that Bunch was our crack batter. Every boy has his ideal 
big boy hasn't he? Well Bunch was mine. A great big 
cherry, good-natured, big-muscled, big-hearted, big-brained, 
big-boy. 1 wanted to be like Bunch, to have a big muscle 
like his, a big voice like his, and a big head like his, and I 
used to long to be told I resembled him in any way. It is 
useless to say that nobody ever did it. 

1 don't believe any body ever enjoyed the boys more than 
Bunch did. Indeed so much was this the case that when the 
good folks out in Columbus, Miss., called him to be their 
pastor, he told them about his comrades in Clinton in day? 




BUNCH 



SOME OLD FRIENDS. 215 

agone and together they founded the Palmer Orphanage and 
I doubt not but that were you to go there now you would see 
the Bunches and Cornies and Dills and Goats and Gizzes just 
like we used to have at Thorn well. 



Will King was the pitcher of the Big Nine when I joined 
it. Will was a good player and a kind friend. It was with 
the deepest sorrow that I read the following lines only a few 
days ago : 

"YVm. A. King, who was at the Orphanage from 18S4 
to 1887, was instantly killed by a partial explosion of a steam 
thresher in Ft. Valley, Ga., on the 25th ult. He was thirty 
years of age. His remains were brought to Clinton and were 
interred in the Cemetery here. The news was a great shock 
to us and to his many friends and relatives. His dear old mo- 
ther and his brothers and sisters have our warmest sympathy 
in this affliction. While a pupil in the Orphanage he united 
with the Presbyterian Church here, from which his member- 
ship was afterwards taken. He was an excellent young man 
faithful and industrious." 



Jim Mofratt was honored among the boys, being the sex- 
ton of the church as well as left-fielder on the team. No one 
knows where Jim is now, any more than we used to know. 
►Sometimes we feel sure he is at a place if we have a telegram 
from him. vVe gave him the left field so that he could move 
about. 



Then too. there was Nat, otherwise "Little Un," a 
quick and sturdy short-stop. He was one of the younger 
boys and one of the most popular. A good many years have 




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SOME OLD FRIENDS. 



217 



passed since he and I met but they have not lessened the in- 
terest one feels in the welfare of an old comrade. Plum- 
hunts and muscadine vines intrude to themselves in my vision 
when a few days ago I read this from the "Atlanta Con- 
stitution :" 

"Mr. Nat N. Harris, one of Macon's most prominent 
young men, weds Miss Florence Shobe, of Oakland, Ky., on 

November 14th. This 
unites two of the mos 
prominent families o f 
these states. They will 
reside in Macon after De- 
cember 1st." 




MR. AND MRS. NAT. 



And Allie Quarles, who 

that used to go with AHie 
to set his traps and look 
the gums, will ever forget 
him ? I shall not for one- 
How my heart did thrill 
once when he let me hold 
in my own hands for a 
few minutes, a "felark" he had caught! Few big boys 
would trust a little one with such a priceless treasure. And 
he actually let me carry home a rabbit for him once. 

How strange it seemed to me when I saw him a few 
years ago in the Treasury Building at Washington. It was 
as though a little bit of dear old Clinton had dropped into our 
Nation's Capitol. How much stranger it would be could I 
see him now in the Philippines, he and "Mrs. Allie" ! Allie 
always was a great fellow for playing "Filipino" when he 



SOME OLD FRIENDS. 2 r 9 

was at the Orphanage. He's having a lively gime of it in 
the Ordnance Department over there, the^ say. 



Mingled with all these scenes and faces which we h.ive 
described in the preceding pages were many far sweeter than 
those of the rugged base ball nine. Tbey were as interested 
as the boys in their sports and threw all their girlish hearts in- 
to the games. There was Frank, who said that the reason h( r 
hands were so cold was that she accidentally swallowed a 
thermometer one winter. There was Annie Fields who be- 
lieved it and was found heating the thermometer the next day 
to make the weather moderate. There too, was Jennie Hur- 
ley. I asked Jennie once what made the pimples on her 
face and she told me the following story : Once upon a time, 
a long time ago she had an uncle who was very careless as re- 
gards pins. One day to show his prowess he swallowed a 
whole handful but they were several too many for him and 
wouldn't come back as the others had done. Henceforth for 
years afterward, everytime he wanted a pin he would feel for 
a bump on his face and scratch a little and pull it out. Her 
father had learned this pin-cushion, labor-saving device from 
her uncle and she inherited it from her father. For years that 
girl had us little fellows believing all that. 

Among the spectators of our games none was more wel- 
come and none more universally beloved than Gertrude. Plug 
Ugly couldn't play a little bit without her and all the balance 
of us could run a little faster and throw a little straighter if 
we were sure of hearing the cheery words of praise. I could 
see her happy little face and hear her soft little voice calling 




PLUG UGLY COULDN'T PLAY A LITTLE BIT 
WITHOUT HER." 



SOME OLD FRIENDS. 221 

"run fas' Lonnie," as I read the following from the "Mem- 
phis Commercial Appeal," of June 27th 1900 : 

"The Supreme Court of Tennessee, in a decision handed 
down at Jackson yesterday morning, holds that a woman is 
not eligible to membership in the bar and can not practice 
law in the courts of this commonwealth. 

The decision will be a surprise to many members of the 
legal fraternity throughout the state. 

The question came before the supreme court for adjudica- 
tion on the ex parte petition of Miss Mary Griffin of Memphis 
and the petition to practice law before the court was disallow- 
ed, the opinion being by Judge Caldwell. This is the first 
ruling of the Supreme Court on the question of a woman's el- 
igibility to practice before the court. 

The case of Miss Griffin is one of unusual interest, and the 
adverse opinion is a severe disappointment to one of the most 
capable and accomplished young ladies in Memphis. Miss 
Griffin is a cousin of Judge J. S. Galloway of the Second 
Circuit Court and is a native of Georgia. An inherent incli- 
nation to the subtleties and abstractions of the legal profession 
was strengthened by constant association with the various 
phases of litigation. For several years she has been the confi- 
dential clerk of Scruggs and Roseborough and during that 
time applied herself assiduously to the study of law. 

k She acquired such proficiency,' said a member of the 
firm to a reporter, 'that she is able to draft the most intricate 
pleadings and can prepare a bill in chancery, a declaration or 
conveyance with more technical accuracy than a majority of 
the lawyers of the Memphis bar. Miss Griffin I regard as one 
of the best qualified young lawyers in Memphis, and we share 
with her the disappointment which comes of the Supreme 
Court's action.' 

Miss Griffin has been admitted to practice law in Shelby 
county in both the Chancery Courts. This was several months 



222 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

ago. Had Miss Griffin been content to rest her case here she 
might have entered upon the practice of law undisturbed and 
conducted litigation to its issue in the lower courts." 



There were two boys who never could be persuaded to 
play ball, Sam Fulton and Dent Brannen. (We forget our- 
selves, Rev S. P. Fulton, of Okasaki, Japan, and Rev. D. 
W. Brannon, of Milledgeville, Ga.) Sam (see page 78) is 
always associated in my mind with the famous Charleston 
earthquake. Doctor was off that summer and three of us boys 
slept over in his house to keep out the burglars. We were 
not at all timid about it until one day Bunch lost the key to 
the front door, and that night it was all he could do to per- 
suade John and me to sleep in the house with him. There 
had been a burglary a few nights before, and we were not at 
all anxious to wake up in the middle of the night chewing a 
pistol barrel. After some discussion we decided to sleep on a 
pallet just inside the front door. Bunch was to roll himself 
up against it to prevent any entrance without waking him up. 
John was to be on the steps with a base ball bat under his 
pillow. And I, of course, chose the middle. Night came on- 
Tales of spooks and burglars kept us awake too long, but at 

last we dropped off to sleep, when ker-blop — blop — blop 

— blop and we were all wide-a-wake. 

"Bunch, (in a stage whisper) Bunch, they're upstairs," 
said John. 

"A tearin' up the boards and gittin' in." 

Ker-blop — blop — blop — blop sounded a loose board 

in the attic, and then a window in a back room began to 
rattle. 



SOME OLD FRIENDS. 223 

* 'Bunch, they're comin' in through the back windows, 
too." 

The first shock passes off and all is quiet. Three terri- 
fied lads peering through the darkness await the coming of 
their enemies. 

Ker-blop — blop — blop — blop the second shock is on, 

and one by one every window in the house begins to rattle. 

"Where's the bat, John," said Bunch. "Gimme here 
quick." 

"Are they coming this time, you reckon, Bunch?" 

"I hope not, I hope they can't get in. I wish we hadn't 
lost that key, fer if we had it now we could lock 'em in and 
catch 'em in the mornin'." 

"I hope Doctor'll stay at home next year. Sh — sh — sh 
— they're comin' " 

"John," said Bunch, "go upstairs and light the passage 
lamp." 

"Send Lonnie' Bunch." 

"Xo, sirree bob, oldpardner! I cant reach it." I never 
was so glad to be small. 

"You go, Bunch." 

"1 got to stay here and keep 'em from gittin' in the front 
door. You go ahead they can't catch you." 

Cautiously, John goes upstairs, — creeps along to the 
lamp — strikes a match, it does not ignite, when 

Ker-blop — blop — blop — blop 

John makes a dash tor the stairs, Bunch grabs the bat, 
John leaps down the atairs in one jump — Bunch takes him 
i or a burglar host — Crash! and the banisters are kindling 
woou — Crash ! and half of a window is gone and I through it 



224 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

Crash ! ! and with a mighty whoop three brave defenders of 
their homes are running at 2 :20 gait toward the Home of 
Peace. 

There we find a host of boys and girls already gathered. 

"Is the judgement day a comin', ?" shrieked John as we 
slowed up enough for him to talk. 

But at last light had dawned upon Bunch. He had 
somebody else's explanation. 

"Aw Shaw! fellows, it wuzn't nuthin' but er earth- 
quake ! Come on les go back." 

But we didn't go back. 

Mr. Scott had a little experience of his own that night. 
Kit, our asinine youth of twenty summers, was hitched to the 
little wooden house in which he slept. Very sleepy, both of 
them retired real early. 

About ten o'clock Mr. Scott heard a vigourous : Ker- 
blop — blop — blop — and felt Ja gentle rocking sensation, as 
though his house might be on a drunk. A few moments la- 
ter a white-robed figure appeared at the window — 

"Whoa Kit!" 

Kit whoaed for a few moments and then Ker-blop — 

blop — blop — blop— as though she were placing her feet gen- 
tly against the foot of her bed. 

"Whoa Kit!" he is again at the window "Whoa, you 
" Nobody told us the rest of the sentence. 

Kit whoaed once more, but only for a moment. Then 



Ker- blop — blip — blap — blup 

This was one too many, 

"I'll make you whoa" — and [in an instant there was a 



226 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

smash of a bucket and its water on Kit's cranium, a creaking 
and crashing of ropes, a mighty quiver and screaking of 
boards and a flying, braying mule, burning the wind for her 
stable and a soft voice from the window — 

4 'Now git!" 

And he retires to rest, when Ker-blop — blop — blop^- 

He is at the window in an instant. The house is rock- 
ing suggestively, the lights in the neighboring windows arid 
screams from the girls attract his attention and he says peni- 
tently : — 

"Gosh, I guess I'll git!" 

And he got. 

But the way Sam happened to be associated, in my mind 
with the earthquake, was because he was at that time the on- 
ly large boy in the Orphanage and the girls had him as their 
priest and intercessor during Doctor's absence. I really do 
not know what they would have done without Sam's prayers 
that summer. 

Dent was the other boy that wouldn't play ball. He 
spent all his ball-hours over his arithmetic and geography and 
later over his exegesis and theology. He's the pastor of the 
Presbyterian Church at Millidgeville, Ga., now. You would 
have expected him to do something like that. 



Dill was our first baseman. Being a little taller than any 
of the other boys he could reach farther and catch wilder 
throws. There were two things about fc, old Dill" that made 
him very valuable to the team, he never lost his head and he 
always did his best. Another thing too, he was the first man 




'OI.D DILI," NOW PROFESSOR OF 
PHYSIOLOGY IX THE UNIVER- 
SITY OF NASHVILLE. 



228 NEATH THB SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

on the team to bind up a broken ringer or anoint a bruise. I 
have said before that grown men are just grown boys and 
that is the reason our first baseman is now Professor of Phys- 
iology in the University of Nashville. The happiest moments 
of my life are bound up with Dill. How sweet were those 
hours spent by day among the flowers of God in his fields 
and meadows or by night dreaming of the clusters of his lil- 
ies in his heaven-meadow above. When all else failed Dill 
was true. His lips were the first on earth to tell me to be a 
man, a true and manly man. His smiles of sympathy have 
been with me by day and his songs filled my dreams by night. 
Oh, I could say so much of old Dill and it all would be 
praise. I shall not say more now, Only you must let me tell 
him some day when we meet after the sorrows and shadows 
and hates and fears and spites and darkness and storms and 
billows, after they all have done their worst, that it was the 
vision of his sympathetic face that seemed to ever silently 
call me on till I saw through the gloom the brilliance of the 
harbor lights, at last. 

A little sorrow 'twill soon be past, 

A torrent of tears! they will not last, 

For what of the horror and what of the swell, 

Tho the billows reach heaven or yawn into hell, 

If he stand there, our Pilot, whose eyes see the realm 

Of darkness as light? If his hand hold the helm? 

What joy! when one cries from the storm riven mast, 

See! See! Harbor lights of God's haven at last! 



"Say Rather, 'We Shall Meet Again/ " 

MANY years after the events narrated in the preceding 
chapters had occurred a young man, one who had him- 
self been a partner and participant in them, was talking to a 
friend. It was in a town not far from Clinton, the scene of 
our stories and his friend who in different ways had added 
her quota to its support knew the institution well. The after- 
noon was fast darkening in ;o the evening and the cherry blaze 
of the fire cast grotesque shadows into the corners and sent a 
merry ray into the streets to, light the traveller on his home- 
ward journey. The drowsy patter of the rain and the murky 
sky only intensified the coziness of the scene within and natur- 
ally turned the conversation in contrast to them into lighter 
channels. The last party and its following ball, the joys of 
life, the flippancy of many who thought and acted as the 
critics did, this or that jolly friend and his richest joke were 
successively passed in review. But gradually the conversa- 
tion changed to the other side of life. 

"It is sweet to live when one is young," she said, "when 
the eye is bright and glistening with the anticipations of 
pleasure and the steps elastic in their pursuit. Life seems so 
boundlessly joyous and full of promise. Only I dread th e 
darkness of the last night, the pall, the smothering grave, 
where the worm dieth not till all is gone. I shudder with 
horror at the thought." 



*52 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

"But it is only a common dread, common to all. A com- 
mon shudder and horror and death." 

"And because so, the more horrible ! The lovely maiden 
form whose beauty drags to her feet the hearts of lovers of 
today, tomorrow rots in the grave — the grave, where all that 
is pure and lovely mingles with all that is loathesome and 
horrible. The strength of the strongest withers there, even 
the cords of love snap at its gate. Do you think it is worth 
while to try to go on in life when one knows that nothing but 
sorrows and trials await — nothing but death?" 

"I believe" he said, "that there has been, in the whole 
history of mankind, no really great thought, no heart stirng 
soul stirring emotion, no truly great deed — the deed of a man 
that was not conceived amid the throes of suffering and sor- 
row." 

"Do you really believe that?" 

"Undoubtedly, I do, and I believe more. I believe that 
He who doeth His will among the inhabitants of the earth and 
among the armies of heaven is wise enough to u§e as the 
mother of such thought and feelings and actions the one prin- 
ciple of the soul which is the tenderest of all and susceptible 
of the acutest pain, I mean the principle of love." 

"I don't think I understand exactly." 

"Then let me illustrate. I knew a mother once with 
four sons, one of her own flesh and blood and three orphans 
adopted into her home, and like tall mothers her own was 
the one whom she loved most, not that she loved the others 
less. Among al the good folks of her church none loved her 
God and her church more than she, and no prayers were ever 
more sincere or more heart-expressive than those of hers 



SAY RATHER, WE SHALL MEET AGAIN. 233 

which ascended by day and by night that her boys (and all 
the time she really meant her boy) might love them too. 

"As luck would have it, you Jwould say, as God would 
have it say I, the very lad who was dearest of all was also 
the worst of all. He seemed even to delight in breaking his 
mother's heart. The other boys grew up to be noble and pure 
men, but he sank by steps into the horrors of a Christless 
tomb — sank slowly downward until he could see — could feel — 
aye touch the awful coldness and in its hopeless darkness could 
hear a weird voice saying in strangely, horribly familiar ac- 
cents : 'Because I bave called and you have not answered, I 
have stretched forth mine hand and no man regarded, I also 
will laugh at your calamities and mock when your fear 
cometh." 

"In that hour of darkness indeed she scarce remembered 
her God, but in high heaven, his dwelling place he heard her 
prayers and was ready to save. Then quickly his arms 
brought salvation where all other arms had failed. Then 
slowly she found that the Eternal God was her refuge and 
underneath were the everlasting arms. Gradually she poured 
out her soul a living sacrifice of prayer for him, and as in 
death she crossed over from earth, the spirit of God touched 
her boy and as she was born into the kingdom of Heaven he 
was born into the kingdom of God. By such as these our 
Master teaches us what he means when he sends us sorrows : 
'•that we might know the fellowshig of his suffering," that 
we may be made perfect through suflering. 

"Let me illustrate again by one of the best friends I ever 
had at the orphanage in Clinton. And one whom I knew 
most thoroughly and therefore can speak most confidentially. 



234 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

He was one of the brightest boys at school, one of the most be- 
loved, one of the all round nicest. More than that, there was 
not a boy more popular than he. Everybody liked him, boys 
and girls, they liked him because he loved them. 

"Well there was one girl at the orphanage that he loved 
more than all the rest. He would have done anything for 
her, strange to say she did not like him. All or any of the 
others would have been his for the asking. 

"He had a friend in the Orphanage — a boy, let me call 
him Edward. He loved Edward and did everything in his 
power to make Edward like him — and failed. Every boy in 
the institution would have jumped at the opportunity of 
being his room-mate — every one but Edward. All would 
have been only too glad to be his companion in the wcod or 
desk-mate at school — all but Edward. 

Singularly enough too, of all the teachers at school, the 
one whom he most highly esteemed w_s the only one who did 
not like him. Everybody — everything loveed him until he 
longed for some one person's love and then that person turned 
against him. At last, to make the statement more complete 
and true, its only exception left him in death, his mother. 

And yet he ploddedj on, ever on, determined to become a 
man, and a min he became First, through college for four 
years, where he graduated at the head of his class and all the 
honors lay around him. The same for his professional course. 
Whenever intellect, or heart, or energy was wanted, he was 
there and always successful. Yet weirdly enough, everything 
he loved specially hated him, until he grew cold himself- -and 
held his own heart in or better let it go out to all exactly alike. 
In this way he was tolerably happy. 



SAY RATHER, WE SHALL MEET AGAIN. 235 

But the day c ime when the ruler of the destinies of men, 
again crossed his path. He had painted to himself his ideal 
of beauty and longed for her, that all the strength of his heart 
might go out like a flood of waters, driven at last by a spirit 
that would brook no refusal. One day he saw her and loved. 
With an almost solemn step he gradually approached the shrine 
of her heart as he would the shrine of a god, fearful that at 
his touch thih form of love and beauty might, like the others, 
crumble into dust. With a feeling akin to awe he studied her 
^oul and his own, her's that he might be surer and more sure 
of its conformity to his ideal, his because he knew what 
would be the effect of such a failure as he dreaded. And the 
failure came. Like the shadow of hell that follows the form 
of a sinful man, this awful fate followed him. At first, before 
he loved her she seemed to admire him extravagantly — his in- 
tellect, his power, his sterling worth, this so long as he did 
not care for it. But when he did care, some weird power 
stayed the quick pulses of her heart and chilled all the warmth 
of her soul's affection. 

To me it is passing strange, that there should be found a 
man whom all others love, except she whom he longs to do so, 
who could win the affection of almost any one else exeept the 
affection he wishes. 

And yet, I believe it will be the making of the man. He 
was in danger of loving too deeply the things earthly and los- 
ing his grasp of the things eternal. God has taught him in 
this way that he alone can turn the hearts of men as the streams 
of water are turned. 

Some day that spectre of failure will vanish. Some day 
its shadows will give way to light, in that day when he shall 



NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

learn that the Eternal God alone is his refuge and under- 
neath are the everlasting arms. Perhaps some day the very- 
heart that once scorned shall love him dearest of all — 

"Perhaps, God only knows — 

Who watching each life struggle draws the curtain at th e close." 

Her face had grown more serious now, and as he look- 
ed up he saw that she was gazing thoughtfully into the fire. 
After a short pause she spoke slowly : — 

"Do you know I wish people took more interest in one 
another." 

"Why, what do you mean?" 

"Just this, that of all of the pilgrims on earth not one of 
them but would welcome something higher and purer if they 
could but get it, I have longed for, and so have they all, and 
oh, longed so earnestly for something else. I don't know ex- 
actly what it is but if there are nobler joys and more lasting, 
if there is a higher life tell me of it." 

For a moment he was silent, such a request was not a us- 
ual one. 

"I have heard of heaven" she continued, "and I am what 
the world calls a Christian, that is, when a little girl my heart 
was touched by the story of the love of Christ, and I loved 
him, yes and perhaps I ought to say I love him yet, but it is 
such an intangible thing and no body seems to really care any- 
thing for him and I don't think that folks honestly believe he 
is right near them and died for them and all. If its true, oh if 
its true why don't everybody talk about him and love him too." 
And then I love sometimes to think of heaven where he 
is, and where they say our loved ones are. The world is 
bright and happv to me and I have wondered and dreamed 



SAY RATHER, WE SHALL MEET AGAIN, 237 

of how beautiful everything is up there. And I have longed 
and yes I long now to know, I mean to feel sure of it all. 
Why, if I believe it, honestly believed it, believed that he is 
there and that it will be my home just like you are here in my 
present one, oh, I would not stop with giving my love, I 
would give my life, my all to him, and taunts and jests and 
jeers and jibes would only drive me closer to his great loving 
bosom. And wouldn't it be fine to die? 

There was silence for a moment, a silence such as the 
tongue always yields when the eyes here have gone to look on 
eternal things and the heart is beating in harmony with the 
pulse of the omnipotent one. She was thinking of the beauty 
and the joy of that soul who knew its God and was strong. 
To him the memories were crowding upon one another, mem- 
ories which her words had brought, images which her last 
thought had conjured up. "Wouldn't it be fine to die?" 
His heart was full now and he no longer hesitated in word. 

"May I tell you a story, he said, it won't take long and I 
promise to tell only the truth." 

She let him go on. 

"It has not been long nor was it far away that it happened, 
just over at the orphanage. You know the boys and girls are 
thrown upon their own resources when they leave its campus, 
and nothing could be more interesting than to watch those 
manly young fellows and womanly young girls choose and fit 
themselves for their several walks in life and I used to love 
to talk with them duringmy last year there when I played the 
role of teacher, and there were two young fellows] in whom I 
was particularly interested, Lee and John. Lee was to all ap- 
pearances strong and sturdy but John had always had to con- 



233 



NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 




tend with a frial body. 

We loved to talk to one 
another, the boys and I 
and they opened their 
hearts to me, and they 
were noble hearts indeed, 
and bright were the plans 
they had laid. John was 
to be a professor and he 
dreamed of the day when 
he too would unfold the 
parchments of knowledge 
to the lads, as eager as he 
to read them and he fond- 
ly hoped ah 1 shall 

never forget the light in 
his eye when he told me of his purpose, that the day 
would some time come when his pen would do what his 
weak body could not and the tear-stained manuscript herald 
the gospel he was unable to proclaim with his faltering ton- 
gue Lee had other hopes and plans, he was to live in the 
world yet not of the world. There had come to his ears the 
story of a great merchant prince who had made millions and 
used every penny of it for the all glorious Master, and Lee 
never could see why a counting table was not just as good to 
pray over as a pulpit. And so his young heart was longing 
and planning the lovely things he would do for his lovely 
Master. 

It was in the fall after I had left the orphanage for a 
while and one day in a distant city while reveling in a letter 



IS IT A WONDER THAT THEIR FACES 
SHOW A FIPM CHARACTER AND DE- 
TERMINATION. 



SAY RATHER, WE SHALL MEET AGAIN. 239 

from home, that my heart sickened as I read that Lee was 
dead. Like Matthew of old the Lord had called him from the 
money table to be with him. As I read the lew lines that 
told me of his death the thoughts came to me of his 
bright plans and brighter love for the Master, of his half 
timid prayers with the boys, about the more perfect way. 

After a few weeks I came home to find the whole orph- 
naage, sick nearly. A long period of unprecedented rigorous 
weather had laid many of the children on their beds. The 
cold and dampness had specially marked out those whose 
lungs were w T eak and some eight or nine were dangerously 
ill. I ramember they told me almost the first thing that Celia 
was very low. I had taught her and loved to think when she 
would teach others. Well, one morning I was walking 
through the campus with a friend whom I was showing over 
the grounds, when my eyes caught a singular sight. There 
was Dawson, I think it was, who had hitched himself up to 
the buggy and was carrying some one over to the Infirmary 
from the McCormick. The lad who was riding was evident- 
ly too weak to walk but the smile on his face showed that he 
appreciated the jolly good-natured joke of his improvised 

horse. I shall never forget that sight for it was the last 

time but one I ever saw John Todd. 

It was only a few days later, one afternoon that a breath 
less messenger sped from the Infirmary to Mr. Jacobs' house 
to inform him that John was sinking. It was but a moment 
before I was at his bedside. Except a single call that he 
made his matron-mother he never spoke. We knelt around 
his bed in prayer and tears and watched his life go out into 
the hand of Him to whom every spirit returneth and when 



240 NEATH THE SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

he peacefully sank to rest on the Master's bosom his comrade s 
of the ball ground and prayer meeting, with loving hands pre. 
pared him for his last long rest My heart was sad, I do not 
mind seeing the sun set, its work is done, and the evening 
lories are a fit reward for each daily watch, but I do hate t 
see the dark storm-clouds shroud its bright face in the y 

morning, when the first few hours of its splendor has made us 
long to watch its brilliance wax till mid-day and cheer the de- 
pendent children of earth through the long work hours. The 
hand of the Almighty seemed heavy upon us and to the dark- 
ness of that night we wondered if there could be any day- 
spring. 

But the most touching thing of all was to see their pres- 
ident, he loved the children oh so well 1 know he 

would die for them — yes I know he is dying for them. And 

they, were they not his all his treasures, his gifts and wards 

sent to him from a thousand sorrowing homes to comfort 
and teach and love. And did not his Saviour whose children 
they were, love them too, aye, deeper than his human heart 
could ever do, and was not this same Saviour their incompar- 
able Jesus, whom he talked in hourly converse about them 
and was not he sending the ravens to provide for their bodies 
and his spirit for their souls. Why should he not love them 
when all that was worthy and eternal in his own life centered 
around them? And why should not his head hang low and 
his steps falter as each new time he was called upon to weep 
over each new grave? 

I was sitting a few days later dreaming of that great and 
happy city where Jesus is and where John had gone and 
where some others that I love are, when a knock at the door 



SAY RATHER, WE SHALI, MEET AGAIN. 241 

brought me back to this present world. A letter among 
others had come for one of the nurses at the Infirmary and I 
promised to deliver it immediately. It was only a matter of 
of a moment's walk but when I reached the floor of 
Celia's ward the letter was forgotten, as I heard in a full sweet 
voice the prayer that was as beautiful as it was weird : "Oh 
loving, holy Father take me from this world of sin and temp- 
tation, that I may come to be with you. Take thy child from 
all this pain and suffering, if it be thy holy will, oh, let me 
die, to live with Jesus." Do you wonder that I paused atthe 
door? Do you wonder that my eyes filled and my heart sank 
as I saw by her bedside, her father-president his breast heaving 
with sobs and prayer and his heart telling him all the while 
that God would answer her petitions and not his. She had 
met him that morning with a beautiful and joyous smile and 
he had fondly hoped it betokened her speedy recovery. 
What a strange disappointment when she said "Oh I have 
glad news for you, I'm so happy I can go now" — It was the 
news that the tender spirit of God had won to himself one 
whom she loved and for whom even at the gate of death she 
had prayed. I heard them as they tried to persuade her not 
to pres too hastily into the gate, and I noted the look of won- 
der on her companion's faces as they instinctively shrank back 
from what was to them the dreadest of prospects. She too 
must have seen it, for with her trembling hand reaching out 
toward her father's form she said, "I am not afraid to die — 
I love Jesus." 

"Good-bye" a quivering voice said, close to her pillow. 
"Good-bye forever." 



242 NEATH THE.' SHADOW OF HIS WING. 

"Say rather we shall meet again," was the triumphan t 
answer. 

And the God who never leaves nor forsakes was there 
and the everlasting arms bore her gently to the rest beneath 
the shade of the trees. 

You asked me a moment ago wouldn't it be fine to die 
For such as these, death has no terror, and the valley of the 
shadaw is radiant with the light of the resurrection morn." 

She said nothing nor could the see her face until she 
turned her eyes full upon him and he soft light of the dying 
.embers was enough to tell him that his story had been fitly 
spoken. 

He had finished just in time, for it was already late. On- 
ly the thought that these might be their last words had kept 
him till eleven when he had promised to be away by a quar- 
ter after ten. 

"I must go," he said "Good bye, possibly forever." 
•'Say rather we shall meet again," was her only response. 
And as he went out into the darkness of night there 
welled up into his heart the words of another who had pas- 
sed through the valley of the shadow." 

" So long thy power has led me sure it still 

Will lead me on 
O'er moor and fen o'er crag and torrent till, 

The night is gone, 
And with the morn those angel faces smile 
Which I have loved long since and lost awhile.'* 



